It's Not That Simple
by User-name-not-found16
Summary: Moving to New York with her parents seems to bring Clary more problems than it solved. When Clary meets Jace, will he prove to be just another obstacle, or will he be able to break the wall that Clary has built up? This is a real-world fanfic, so there are no shadowhunters, demons, etc. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1 - Prologue-introduction

**Hi guys! This is my first fanfic! I have written my own stories in the past, but this is my first time writing for an audience. Enjoy!**

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><p>I zip up my backpack just as the front door slams. "Clarissa?" A deep voice calls. "Where are you? I'm back from court!"<p>

Rolling my eyes, I stand, pushing open my bedroom door to slip from my meager excuse for a bedroom into the kitchen, where my father has slumped down at the table. "How did it go?" I ask. I'm worried that he'll say that it went poorly, but I'm even more worried that he'll tell me everything went just as planned.

"Get me a glass of water," he commands, completely ignoring my question.

"How was court?"

"Water." He points to the tap, giving me a glare that could scare a beast. I huff, turn to the sink to fill up a small glass, and pound it on the table in front of him. "Watch the attitude," he warns. "I'm not in the mood tonight."

I take a deep breath to keep calm and rephrase my question. "Did everything go as planned?"

His lips part in a sinister smile. "See for yourself, Clarissa_ Fray_." He pushes a thick, formal-looking paper across the table. I pick it up, fighting the frown that threatens to break through my passive features. I read three names: Clarissa Fray, Valentine Fray, and, beneath that, one that breaks my heart: Jocelyn Fray. The three legal residents of our apartment in Brooklyn, New York.

"She's coming back?" I don't even bother trying to hide the surprise in my voice. Surely, after what happened, the judge wouldn't allow her to return.

"Of course she is. Did you doubt my persuasive power?"

_ No,_ I think, _I just hoped to God that the judge would have seen through your lies._ "How did you convince them this time?"

My father laughs, but it isn't friendly. It is a warning not to mess with him. "It was easy, really. I just had Jonathan visit her in the hospital. He made it perfectly clear what would happen if she didn't cooperate. She was easily convinced, and she performed seamlessly in court. She barely remembers the incident, anyways. The judge had no choice but to rule in my favor. Taking on your mother's maiden name only further proved what a happy family we are and how much I truly care for her. She will be released from the hospital tomorrow, and I have arranged for her to fly straight to New York. She should arrive here before you get home from work."

"Work?" I ask. "I don't have a job."

"Oh yes, I forgot. Jonathan is in need of a new assistant. His old one… no longer holds her position. It's time you pulled your weight around here, so I told him you would fill the open spot. You start tomorrow. It's just five blocks from your new school. You can walk there once your classes finish."

I gape at him. "You can't be serious."

"What's wrong? He seemed excited by the idea. Jonathan has always taken quite an interest in you. I think you two will work together nicely."

"No, Dad," I say, clenching my fists to keep my voice calm and even. Jonathan is Dad's young, promising lawyer. He takes after my father so much that it is scary. And I have a feeling that this 'interest' he has taken in me is far from platonic admiration. "You can't make me work for that creep."

"Clarissa, it has already been arranged. And do not refer to Jonathan as a creep."

"But Dad, he is. I know what happened to his old assistant, how she's in therapy now because he—"

The slap is so quick, so fast that I barely register it before my father is standing less than an inch in front of me. He towers in front of me, and I brace myself for the next blows. He had seemed civil tonight, but my recent outburst angered him more than I had prepared for. "Don't you dare say that about Jonathan, do you hear me?" Another slap. I resist the urge to clutch my throbbing cheek, knowing that doing so will only fuel his anger. "You know nothing. You are nothing. You're just a naïve, 17-year-old girl. So just keep quiet and do as I tell you." He pauses to look at me for a moment, deciding what to say next. "Go to bed."

"You know, you wouldn't get into all this trouble if you'd just stop hitting us all the time." Shit. Did I just say that out loud? My previous courage shrinks away, and suddenly I want nothing more than to follow his command and go to bed without scuffle. Of course, with what I just said, there is no way that will happen.

"What?" His voice is dangerously low, and I sneak a look up at his expression, only to take on the full force of the fist that suddenly strikes my left eye. The punch sends me backwards, and I fall to the ground, a yelp of surprise escaping me as I do so. "Quiet," he hisses. "We're in an apartment now. We have neighbors; we aren't in the middle of nowhere Montana anymore." A sharp kick to my stomach leaves me breathless and gasping for air. "People might hear us, and I don't want anybody asking questions. You hear?" I manage a nod as another kick finds my ribs. Bringing my hands up to protect my face, I quietly submit to my father's beating.

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><p>Half an hour later, my father, having tired of the abuse, heads to bed. I lie on the floor for a moment, assessing my bruises, before I push myself to my feet and collapse on my small bed in my small room. Sleep evades me as I am bombarded with thoughts on how different my new life will be in this big city, in a big new school, under the control of a man I neither respect nor love.<p>

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><p><strong>So what did you think? Should I keep going? All reviews (critical or complimentary) would be much appreciated. As I said, this is my first time writing for an audience, so if there is anything I should do that I don't know about, let me know :D<br>I'm hoping to update once a week, but if I deviate from that schedule a little bit, forgive me in advance!  
>Subsequent chapters will be longer<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**As promised, here is the second chapter of my story. It's still mainly intro-just introducing characters and stuff like that. Hopefully the next update will be more action-filled.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Mortal Instruments**

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><p><em> Beep-beep-beep. Beep-beep-beep. Beep-beep-be<em>— I slap my hand down on the alarm clock, effectively shutting it off. Sighing, I turn my face into my pillows, fully intent on falling back asleep, when my phone vibrates. "Who's texting me right now?" I grumble into the pillows. "I don't even know anybody in this half of the country."

Cracking my eyes open, I unlock my phone to check the message.

_Have fun at your new school without me :( Try not to replace me... not that you could if you tried :P we both know nobody's as cool as me ~S_

Simon. I smile, then frown when I see the time. 5:30 am. It's two hours earlier in Montana, what in God's name is he doing up? I shake my head_._

__ _Thanks, but why are you awake? ~C_

_I just couldn't sleep knowing you'd be up, worried and missing me ~S_

I grin. Tossing my phone down on my bed, I push myself off the hard mattress, grabbing my toiletry kit on the way to the bathroom. We just got in yesterday, so I haven't had time to unpack. Well, I have, but that's beside the point.

When I see my reflection in the mirror, I let out a small sigh of relief. Last night's beating didn't leave too many bruises on my face, thankfully, but my eye is black and swollen. Gingerly, I brush my fingers over my eye, wincing as pain shoots through it at the lightest touch. Gritting my teeth to keep from crying out in pain, I pull out my makeup bag and set to work.

Ten minutes later, I reassess my eye. It's a good thing I'm an artist, because otherwise my father's secret would have been revealed long ago. The skin around my eye has exactly the same tone as the rest of my face, and I can only see the swelling if I stare at it from a very particular angle. I brush my teeth then return to my room to pull on skinny jeans and a simple T-shirt. Hoping Dad hasn't woken up yet, I scramble to the kitchen to make breakfast.

I slide his eggs out of the pan and onto a plate just as I hear him enter the kitchen. After setting them down on the table, I hurry to pour him juice. He sits.

"You start school today, correct?" he asks. Wonderful, he's being civil. Has he already forgotten yesterday's violent outburst?

"Yes," I reply kindly, because I know he wants an answer, and I don't want to upset him, not today, just before starting school.

"Are you prepared?" I nod. "And you know how to get to Jonathan's office?" I tense up at the reminder that later today I will be forced to work for that monster.

"Yes, I know the way," I respond quietly, sitting down with my bowl of cereal.

"Good. I forgot to get lunch supplies for you yesterday, so you'll have to deal without today. I'll pick some up on my way home from work." I smile curtly. _Like hell you will. Just like you've said you would every day for the past sixteen years._

"Well." He clears his throat. "I'd better get going. And come straight home after work; I want you here when your mother arrives." With that, he stands, leaving me behind to clean up the kitchen. Leaning against the counter, I groan. This day is going to be hellish.

I arrive to school on time, a miracle considering I thought the walk would be half as long as it actually was. The secretary at the front desk hands me a map of the school, pointing me to the junior locker pod and flashing me a sympathetic smile. She knows how much this sucks: starting at a new school during junior year, two and a half weeks into the school year. Early enough that you are expected to catch up on all the work, but far enough into the year that cliques have already been established and people are no longer interested in making new friends.

I push my bag into my locker, pulling out my sketchpad and pencils for art, my math textbook, and a notebook. I have study hall third period, so I'll have time to switch out my books. Gluing my eyes to the ground in front of me, I try to make my way to Art class as inconspicuously as possible.

Of course, with my luck, that isn't possible. I'm halfway to my class when I collide with something hard. My books fall to the floor, pencils scattering across the ground. The only thing that keeps me from falling to the ground with them is the pair of hands that reaches out and grabs my waist just before I fall, pulling me forward to steady me.

"Sorry," I mumble, knowing it isn't my place to yell at whoever ran into me, even though he clearly should have been more careful. The hands don't release me, however, and I look up to see who holds me captive.

I find myself face to face – rather, face to chest, as he's about a foot taller than me – with one of the most beautiful boys I have ever seen. His curly blond hair seems to shine, and his eyes have the most peculiar golden color. My eyes briefly flit to his mouth, which flicks up in a barely perceptible grin.

He clears his throat. "You know," he says, one eyebrow rising oh-so-obnoxiously. "If you wanted to get a feel of all this," he nods at himself, "You could have just asked. We could have gone someplace a little more private." He looks me up and down. "That isn't to say I would have accepted your proposal, as enticing as it may be. I'm not typically one for Raggedy Ann dolls." A cacophony of laughter surrounds us, and I push away from this boy, rolling my eyes in disgust and embarrassment. "Careful now," he warns. "Wouldn't want yourself turning into a tomato. That may be worse than the Raggedy Ann look."

Another round of laughter surrounds us, and another boy, similar in height but not quite up to the first boy's level in the looks department, slings his arm across the blond boy's shoulder. "Nice one, Jace," he commends, fist bumping him. "Come on, let's get to class."

The two boys brush past me, followed by the rest of their posse, not even offering to help pick up my belongings. I huff, crouching down to retrieve my books, when another figure drops down beside me, helping to collect my pencils.

"Ignore them," the girl says. "They're total douchebags. Definitely not worth the time." I look over at her. She's gorgeous, as well, but more in a back-off-I'm-dangerous kind of way. Long black hair cascades down her back, and she wears a tight, black dress that I'd never imagine wearing, especially to school.

I scoff. "I'm surprised you're not following them. Don't you need to get back to your little posse?"

"A little feisty today, aren't we?" She smirks. "Don't insult me, I'd never drop to that level. Those boys are disgusting. I get enough of them as is." I frown, confused.

"I have the _honor_," she explains, "Of calling that blond-haired-wonder you bumped into my brother." I nod in understanding. "It sucks, I know. Anyways, what class are you headed to?" She hands me the last of my pencils, tucking them safely into my pencil case, and stands up.

"Art." I hand her my schedule.

"Oh!" She squeals. "Me too! We're in the same class. Horrid subject, isn't it, art? I'm only taking it because they say I have to if I want to graduate."

"Art's my favorite subject," I respond lamely.

She balks. "Well, aren't we getting off to a lovely start? I'm Isabelle by the way, but everyone calls me Izzy. You're new around here, aren't you?"

"Yeah." I explain how I have just moved here from Montana with my parents, and how we just got in yesterday. I omit the fact that my mother has yet to arrive.

"What's with the sudden move?" she wonders aloud.

"My dad's job," I lie, loath to admit the truth to her. Loath to admit the truth to myself. "It was really sudden. I don't know much more than that."

"Huh." Izzy opens the door to the art room, stepping inside just before I do. Thankfully, the teacher doesn't make me introduce myself. Instead he just nods at me.

"Clarissa, yes?"

"Clary."

He grunts, gesturing for me to find a seat. I choose one to Izzy's right.

"All right, class," he says once everybody has been seated. "Take out your sketchpads. Today we'll be starting a project where you will have to draw something in this room that is meaningful to you. And I don't want to hear that your eraser is your prized possession or any B.S. like that. This is for a grade, and I expect you to put in your best work." Izzy groans.

I smile.

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**So what did you think? Again, I love reviews (my first review made me super excited). All comments, commendations, criticisms, etc. are welcome!**

**Just for clarification, Clary and Isabelle are 16-year-old juniors, and Jace is a 17-year-old senior.**


	3. Chapter 3

**All right, here's my next chapter. I've decided to start updating on Fridays rather than Saturdays because that fits my schedule better. Anyways, I hope you like it. Sorry it's so short: I'm working on making my subsequent chapters longer.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own TMI**

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><p>The final bell rings, signaling freedom from school's evil clutches. For most people, it creates excitement: everyone has already begun making plans for the night or talking about the big soccer game at 5. For me, however, this bell brings nothing but dread. I make my way to my locker, pack up the books that I'll need for homework, and sling my bag over my shoulder.<p>

"Want to go to the soccer game tonight?" I hear another voice – Izzy's, I think - ask yet another student to the game. It must be a big deal: at my old school, very few people went to the games, even the big ones. I sigh and head towards the door, pausing when I hear Izzy's voice ring out again. "Are you ignoring me or something?"

This time I turn to look at her. "Me?"

She gives me a look that says "duh, who else?" I smile, flattered that this girl actually made an attempt to reach out to me.

"I would, really. But I have work," I reply sincerely.

"Today? But it's Wednesday. Who works on a school-night? Come on, I'm sure you can skip."

I scoff. "I don't think that would go over too well. What's with this game anyways? Why's it such a big deal?"

"It's their first big game. Their opponent is actually supposed to be good competition. And besides, Jace and Sebastian, one of the other douches in Jace's posse, are actually okay players. They're expected to lead the team to win the championships this year. So you should come with me, if only to watch hot, sweaty guys. You know, scope some out to make a move on this year." She winks.

I roll my eyes. "That's the least of my worries right now, Izzy. And I really can't. Maybe next time, though."

She sighs. "Fine, I'll go with someone else."

I laugh. "I'm sure you'll find somebody," I assure her, but she has already bounced off to ask another girl.

I exit school dreading what the next few hours will bring.

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><p>"You're late."<p>

"I know. Sorry, I was at school," I tell the front desk secretary. She waves me off, pointing me towards a door with a plaque that reads "Jonathan C. Morgenstern"

I knock timidly. "It's open," a voice calls from within. With shaking hands, I push open the door.

Jonathan sits facing away from the door, hunched over at his desk, but as soon as I enter, he turns in his chair. "Ah, Clarissa," he says, a smile breaking across his angular features. "I was expecting you." He rises, approaching me to envelop me in a long hug. "How are you? I haven't seen you in a few years."

"I'm fine," I respond, flashing Jonathan a tense smile. "What do you want me to do first?"

He releases me from his embrace but stays close to me – too close – and reaches out to grab a lock of my stray hair with his fingertips. "Well, there are some papers on your desk for you to organize," he says slowly, twirling my hair between his fingers. "But I was thinking that first we could— "

"Where's my desk?" I cut him off.

He frowns, steps back, and clears his throat. "Back there." His response is cold and disappointed. Good. His thumb juts behind him, to a door which, I assume, leads to my office. I nod, hurrying through the door as quickly as possible.

The room is small, just big enough to fit a desk and a bookshelf. A small window looks out on the New York traffic, and sitting upon my desk is a huge pile of papers. I move to close the door behind me, but a hand blocks me from doing so.

"Ah, ah, keep the door open," Jonathan says, his voice friendly yet demanding. "I want to be able to keep an eye on you." He pauses. "To make sure you aren't slacking off," he adds with a devilish smile that assures me this is not the real reason he wants my door open. I shudder. Nevertheless, I nod submissively, knowing that losing this job would create more problems at home than it would solve here.

"And Clary, please do try to keep out of trouble. Your father says you can be quite the troublemaker, but while you are here, you do what I say. You listen to me, no exceptions. Understand?"

"Yes, Jonathan, I understand," I reply, a sinking feeling budding in the pit of my stomach.

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><p>Jonathan lets me out early. Of course he does. He probably thinks that I can't handle working a full shift. Today was easy though, and Jonathan basically ignored me, so I should be thankful. I likely won't have such an easy day again.<p>

I get back to our apartment at quarter to seven. Dad will want food out for when he gets mom home, so to keep myself from worrying about what will happen when she gets here, I pull out some pasta and begin to cook it, setting the table as I do so.

"This will be okay," I tell myself. "Mom will be fine, Dad will realize that his abuse seriously hurt Mom and that it could get him into trouble, so he will stop, and Jonathan will keep acting kind and civilly with me at work. Moving to New York will be good for us: we have the chance to start over as a family." I am just rambling, and I know that I'm feeding myself lies, but they are all that keep me sane as I wait to see my mother for the first time since the accident. "It is all going to be okay."

And then the door opens.

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><p><strong>YAY! First cliff-hanger. Don't you love that? JK I know those are annoying, but I want to make sure you read next week :D<strong>

**Anyways, that's the last chapter of just background and introductions. As you can probably tell by the ending, the next chapter gets into the intense, action-filled, fun stuff. Until next time, review please!**


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm back! :D You guys might hate me for this chapter, so sorry for that in advance... Anyways, thanks for the reviews and favorites and follows. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own TMI**

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><p>I barely recognize the woman who stumbles through the door. She looks frail and terrified, trembling as her body struggles to hold up her weight. "Mom?" I exclaim, rushing forwards to hug her. She does not return my hug. Instead, she pushes away from me almost as soon as my arms encircle her.<p>

"Who are you?" she slurs.

_ What?_

I step back, suddenly wary. "Mom, what are you talking about?" I chuckle, but her look of confusion remains.

"Why are you calling me 'Mom?' I'm nobody's mother. Who are you?" The fear in her voice shocks me: she's serious. She has no idea who I am.

"No." I step back. "You can't have forgotten me. You can't!" I pound my fist on the table. "You're the only thing that keeps me sane here! You're the only one who-" I cut off abruptly as I realize what I'm saying. Dad is probably right outside.

As if on cue, the doorknob jiggles, and my father, the man responsible for this whole mess, enters as if everything is normal. "Sorry about that," he says. "I realized I forgot some papers in the car; I had to go back down to get them."

I stand in front of the doorway, blocking his entrance. "What is wrong with her?" I demand, my voice low and menacing.

"What do you mean?" He pushes me aside, striding into the apartment and sitting down in front of the plate of pasta I have set out for him.

"What happened to Mom?" She stands only a few feet away from me, but she seems entranced by her own thoughts, oblivious to the conversation around her.

"Oh," he waves it off like it's no big deal. "The doctors said she must have been hit on the head pretty hard. She has some brain damage. Apparently she doesn't remember anything from before waking up in the hospital. The doctors had to tell her her name and explain where she was. Everything from before being in the hospital has been completely erased from her memory. Don't worry; she's just confused about everything right now. Some memories will come back, and she'll figure everything out sooner or later." He takes a bite of his pasta and smiles.

"You did this," I whisper in disgust. "She's like this because of you!"

His eyes flare. "That isn't true. She was drunk and she fell down the stairs. That's what I remember. That's what the police say. And if you know what's good for you, that's what you will say happened as well. Are we clear?"

I nod, eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

"Good. Now go to your room. Looking at you makes me sick."

I comply, having no intention of remaining in the room with this cruel, heartless man I'm forced to call my father.

When I lie down on my bed, my mind brings me back to Montana, back to that fateful day when everything changed.

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><p>"<em>Are you sure you don't want to stay with me tonight?" Simon asks. "It's really late, we should probably get to sleep."<em>

"_Simon, it's only 10:30. We don't even have school tomorrow. It's not late." I roll my eyes. He can be such the overprotective parent sometimes._

"_I know, it's just…" He pauses. "Okay, call me crazy, but I just have this really bad feeling that something's going to happen tonight. It's like… I don't know. I just feel like I'll never see you again."_

_ I laugh. "You're kidding, right? Maybe you _should_ go to bed, you doofus. I'm not going anywhere; you can't get rid of me that easily." I stand up, twirling my car keys around my finger. "I'm gonna head out. I'll text you tomorrow, okay?"_

_ He sighs, letting out a forced chuckle. "Okay. And I know, the thought's ridiculous. You love me way too much." His lips turn upwards. "You couldn't leave me if you tried. See you, Clary."_

_ I get home a little before 11. Mom is waiting up, which can only mean one thing: Dad hasn't gotten home yet. This morning, I had heard him telling Mom that he had a big business deal today. This deal could be huge for the company, but seeing as he hasn't come home yet, I bet it didn't go over too well. He probably went to some random bar to drown out his sorrows, and he'll come home drunk, which can only mean one thing. One of us is going to face a serious beating tonight._

"_Hi sweetie," Mom greets. "How are you? How's Simon?"_

"_We're both fine. We watched a movie. I'm not too tired, I'll wait up for Dad tonight." Translation: you've been taking the brunt of Dad's wrath recently. Let me subject myself to it tonight._

"_No Clary, you have to be up early tomorrow morning for your art class. I'll stay up."_

"_But Mom-"_

"_No buts, Clary. You have to go to art class tomorrow, and as your mother I am ordering you to go to bed."_

"_Then you come too. Dad can fend for himself tonight."_

"_Do you really think that's a good idea? What if he can't find his way home and needs to call? What if something bad – something important – happens? What if he comes home and can't find us? What if-"_

_ I hold up a hand, effectively cutting her off. "Yeah, yeah, there are a lot of what-ifs, I get it. If you insist… but I'm staying up next time."_

_ She sends me a grateful smile, yet her eyes are full of tears. "You shouldn't have to do that, Clary. I'm your mother, it's my job to protect you. And—"_

"_Yeah Mom, I know. I shouldn't have to, but I do." I retire to my bedroom._

_ But I don't go to sleep. I always stay up until Dad gets home, just in case things get out of hand. And tonight, Simon's words bug me. There's no way I'll find sleep right now._

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><p><em> About an hour later, the door slams. My father's drunken blabbering assaults my ears, and although I can't hear exactly what my parents are saying, I can tell they are arguing.<em>

_ Silently, I slip out my bedroom door and make my way to the stairs, where I can better make out what is going on._

"_Those dumb bastards. They don't know what's good for them," my father slurs. His words are so jumbled I can barely make them out._

"_Keep your voice down, please. Your daughter is sleeping."_

_ That's when it comes: the first slap. Its sound reverberates off the walls, filling the house with a tense silence louder than any scream. The slap is a routine offense, but each one has the same effect. The first contact, that first slap, never fails to draw a moment of silence._

"_Don't you dare tell me what to do!" my father yells commandingly. Or at least, he tries to sound commanding. His slur makes that difficult. He just sounds drunk, and because of that, he sounds dangerous._

"_I'm just trying to help-"_

"_I don't need," another slap, "your help," he shouts, and from the sounds that follow, he must have pushed her, hard. The sound of shattering glass follows: she has fallen into some cupboard or set of glasses, shattering them. "You don't know what it's like," he continues, the sounds of his punches and kicks breaking up his words. "To be so close, so very close, and then have it all torn away from you. We could have had everything!"_

_ His words cease, but his beating does not. I frown, my brow creasing. Usually, the end of his rant marks the end of his rampage. The blows continue, though, and I slink down a few steps to get a view of the kitchen._

_ My mother looks dead. Even from the stairs I can see that. Blood flows from several cuts on her forehead and arms, forming a deep red pool on the floor, and she lies there, not moving. Not even flinching or crying out when Dad hits her. My father looms over her, violently assaulting her already-beaten form. _

"_Dad!" I scream without thinking, horrified by the sight before me. He has never lost it like this, not with her. Sure, he's knocked me out a few times, but this – this is a new low, even for him. "What are you doing?"_

"_This is none of your business, Clarissa. This is between me and your mother."_

"_I'm… I'm calling the police," I stammer. "This is too much."_

_ Suddenly, his fingers are curled around my neck, and my head is being violently shoved into the wall behind me. "Oh really?" he challenges, his lips curling into a sadistic grin. "Say that again, why don't you?"_

_ I stare at him, hatred etched into my features._

"_What's the problem?" he taunts. "I thought you said something."_

_ Struggling to breathe, I set my jaw. "We have to call the police." I force out._

_ As the words leave my mouth, I feel blood begin to trickle from my nose. I'm not sure how that happened. I can't focus on anything but the haze beginning to cloud my vision._

"_We don't have to do anything," my father hisses. At least, I think those are his words. I'm not sure._

"_She'll… die," I manage to choke out. "She… needs help."_

_ Releasing his hold on me, he throws me into the stairs. After gulping for air for a few seconds, I look up at him. "Go clean her up. And clean yourself up too, while you're at it. When they come, you tell them she must have fallen down the stairs and stumbled into the cupboard, you hear? We just got home and found her like this. Understood?"_

_ I nod. "Yes, sir," I mumble submissively, staring at his feet._

"_Good. Now get her to the bathroom, clean up, then call whoever the hell you want to come help her. I'm going to shower."_

_ I roll my eyes as he leaves. "The bastard," I mumble, pushing myself to my feet before making my way over to Mom. She's knocked out, but her breathing seems relatively normal, if not a little shallow. Slinging her arms around my shoulder, I half-carry, half-drag her to the bathroom, hoping I'm not exacerbating her injuries too badly._

_ By the time I've slowed her cuts' bleeding and cleaned myself up, it's nearing 2 A.M. I pull out my cell and call 911, feigning surprise and fear as I lie that my father and I had just come home from a late movie to find my mother bleeding and knocked out. After hanging up, I call upstairs to warn Dad that they'll be here any minute, so he'd better look presentable. _

_ After getting my mother, who still hasn't awoken, securely into the ambulance, an EMT turns to my father and me. Dad, with a comforting arm around my shoulder and a distressed expression wrought on his features, has flawlessly transformed from a drunken wife beater to a caring, concerned husband and father. _

_ Sympathetically, the EMT places a hand on my arm. "She'll be okay, I'm sure. Would you two care to ride in the ambulance to the hospital?"_

_ Before I can respond, Dad as gently shoved me behind him. "Clarissa will stay here. I don't want her to see her mother like this. I'll come, though."_

_ The man nods, turning away to climb into the ambulance. My dad turns to me, a stern, much more familiar expression overtaking his features. "You stay in this house, you hear?" He whispers. "I don't want you talking to any of these people and screwing everything up for all of us. Now go inside and pack your bags. I want you ready to go when I get back."_

_ I gape at him. "What? Why?"_

_ He rolls his eyes. "You brought the police into this. People are going to start asking questions. I don't want my reputation destroyed. We're leaving. We're going to New York, that's where my business is based anyways. We'll say my job transferred me. We'll leave tomorrow morning."_

_ I gasp. "No. I'm not moving to New York."_

_ He grasps my chin, tilting it up so that I'm forced to look at him. "You're going, you hear? You chose to bring the police into this mess; don't you dare argue with me on this. Go pack your bags." And then, to maintain his appearance of a caring father, he wraps me in a too-tight hug. "It'll be okay, honey," he says much more loudly than necessary. _

_ I push away from him, storming into the house. Screw him. Screw all of them. Let them ask questions. Then maybe I'll be able to stay-_

_ I push that thought away as quickly as it comes. What would people say if they found out? About him? About me? They'd think I was some poor, broken girl that they have to protect. I couldn't handle all the sympathetic looks I'd be sure to receive. And staying here? If anyone found out, they'd haul me away to some far off land, and I'd be in the hands of some crotchety old foster parents who would make my life even worse. _No,_ I tell myself. _I'm better off here.

_ I pack my bags. Simon was right. He'll never see me again._

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><p><strong>So... yeah. Sorry about all that. That's what happened back in Montana, though. I'd like to say right from the start that I DO NOT in any way condone domestic violence or abuse. <strong>

**Please, please, please review! They really make my day! :D**

**Also, if anyone has any good fanfic suggestions, let me know. I'm always looking for new ones to read!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Alright so I'm back! I'd like to thank lindsayhonaker for the reviews: they've made me really happy and excited to keep updating!**

**Okay, so first off, I've been sick while working on this chapter, so if it's not as good as usual, well... sorry. Hopefully I'll get healthier and the next ones will be better.**

**Anyways, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Although I really wish I did, I unfortunately do not own The Mortal Instruments. Too bad.**

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><p>"So when do you want to work on this project?" Izzy asks as we exit the art room on our way to lunch. Mr. Starkweather, or Hodge as he is called by his students, decided to change the project when he realized that most of the class had no idea what in the classroom they could draw that was "meaningful" to them. For the modified project, he has paired us up randomly with another student in the class, and we have to come up with something we value or admire about the other person. Then we have to find a way to draw that value. Mercifully, I've been paired with Izzy, the only person I have actually talked to in the class.<p>

"Well I don't have work today, so we can do it after school."

"Okay, that's cool with me. Want to go to-"

"Your house," I say before she can finish. There's no way she's coming to mine. Mom still didn't remember me this morning, and Dad was in a horrible mood when I left for school. There's no telling what tonight will bring, and I don't want her there to witness it.

"Jace is having a bunch of his friends over tonight," she warns. "Why don't we go to yours?"

"I don't care," I say. "There are a billion unpacked boxes in mine, you can't even walk around." Okay, that's a total lie, but there's no way I'm letting Izzy come to my apartment. I didn't even let Simon come over back in Montana, and I'd known him my whole life. It's just too much of a risk.

She sighs. "Fine, but when Jace and his friends come home, don't say I didn't warn you." The hallway splits, and I turn left just as she turns right. "Where are you going?" She laughs. "The cafeteria's this way."

"Yeah, I know. I'm not all that hungry," I say, racking my mind for an excuse as to where I am planning on going. "I think I'm just going to go to the library and catch up on some work. I'll see you after school though?" Wow, I'm on a roll. That's my second lie in a matter of minutes.

My stomach grumbles hungrily. So much for that lie.

Izzy laughs. "Yeah, right." She grabs my arm. "Of _course_ you aren't hungry. Come on, you can catch up on work later. Besides," she bumps my hip jokingly. "When else are you going to meet people? You don't talk to anyone in class."

Rolling my eyes, I grudgingly follow her. Now I have to think up an excuse as to why I don't have lunch or money with me.

* * *

><p>After paying for her hamburger and salad, Izzy turns to me. "You gonna get anything, or are you intentionally starving yourself?"<p>

"Oh, um… I actually forgot my lunch at home today." _And I forgot it yesterday, and I'll forget it for the rest of the year_.

Without missing a beat, Izzy returns to the food line, grabs another burger, and pays for it before I can protest. "You can just pay me back later, then." She hands me the burger.

"No, Izzy, I don't need it. I'll just wait till I get home. I'll be fine." I mentally start to panic. I can't pay her back for that; I don't have any money. The last time I kept any money for myself I was ten. I'd taken five dollars to buy a book at the school book-fair, and when my dad found out, he threw the book into the fire, beat me to unconsciousness, and didn't give me food the next day.

"Shut up, you need to eat. It's only two bucks, just bring me the money tomorrow." She sits, setting the food down on the table in front of her. "I've already bought it; it'll just go to waste if you don't eat it now."

I huff in annoyance, but I sit down across from her anyways. My hunger gets the best of me; I haven't eaten since snacking on the pasta I made last night.

As I bite into the hamburger, Izzy waves another girl to the table. "Maia!" she calls. "This is Clary."

"Hey," the girl says. I just nod, glancing up at the girl. She's taller than me, which isn't saying much, and she has a light brown, almost caramel skin-tone.

"What's up?" she asks, sitting down next to Izzy. A tall, tan boy with shining hazel eyes follows her.

"Not much," Izzy responds. "Hodge just assigned me and Clary another impossible project." Her eyes flit to the boy. "What's up Jordan? How's rehab going?"

The boy's eyes light up mischievously. "Not in front of the new girl," he chides jokingly. "Wouldn't want her getting the wrong impression of me."

I eye him warily. "You're in rehab?" My father has made me wary of all drugs and alcohol, and I have a hard time trusting people who abuse them.

"See, look, you've already tainted her perception of me," he pouts at Izzy. Then he turns to me. "Nah, they haven't caught me." He winks. "Not yet, anyway."

"That's… um… good, I suppose." I offer meekly. Suddenly, my food actually _doesn't_ look very appealing.

"Good?" Maia exclaims. "It's a godsend. If they catch you high again, they'll kick you out. You're trying to stop, right? You promised you would."

Jordan groans. "Oh my God, Izzy. I just got her off this topic." He runs his hands through his long brown hair and bangs his head on the table.

Izzy laughs. "It's your own fault. You know you need to stop." She smacks the back of his head playfully, to which Jordan grabs his head and lets out a completely fake shriek of pain and Maia rolls her eyes, hiding a giggle behind her hand.

I can't help myself. I laugh a little.

* * *

><p>"My mom's coming to pick us up," Izzy tells me. Class has just let out, and we met up in the locker pod. I smile. A heavy rain has begun to fall, and I hadn't exactly been excited to walk outside in only my T-shirt and jeans. "She's getting Max from the elementary school first, so she'll be about half an hour. Jace will be over with Alec and a billion friends after soccer practice, so we'll have about an hour of peace and quiet once we get home."<p>

"Awesome." I smile. "Your mom doesn't mind if I come over?"

"Are you kidding?" She laughs. "She'll be thrilled to know I'm friends with a girl other than Maia. She'll love you."

I laugh too. I guess Izzy's pretty cool after all.

* * *

><p>"I give up, this is impossible!" Izzy throws her hands up in the air. "I'm no good at drawing, anyway!"<p>

I smirk, barely looking up from my sketchpad. "We haven't even been working for an hour, Izzy, of course you're not done. Good art takes time."

"But how am I supposed to draw a _personality_?" she whines.

"I'm doing it."

"Yeah, what are you drawing of me, anyways?" She reaches for the sketchpad, but I pull it back.

"Not 'till I finish."

"Ugh, you're impossible." Just as the words leave her lips, the front door bangs open, and the voices of rowdy teenage boys reach our ears. Izzy groans again. "Great, Jace is back. Now I definitely won't be able to focus."

A group of five guys appears in the kitchen. I recognize Jace and the tall, dyed-black-haired boy as the guy who congratulated Jace on insulting me, but I've never seen the other three before. Jace makes his way over to the kitchen table where Izzy and I sit working.

"How are you today, dear sister?"

"I'm a lot worse now that you and your posse are here," she bites sarcastically.

"Ouch. That hurt. A lot," Jace retorts, clutching his chest in mock-hurt. He turns to me. "And how about your friend here?" He asks Izzy. When she ignores him, he turns to me, a sinister smirk growing on his lips. "I'm Jace. I don't think I got to properly introduce myself the other day."

It takes all my willpower not to roll my eyes. "I'm Clary."

"Clary! Quite an interesting name. Is it short for any-"

"She's not gonna let you in her pants, Jace," Izzy buts in.

Instead of becoming embarrassed at Izzy's crude remark, his smile only grows. "Are you sure about that? I've been told I'm quite desirable. I assure you," he says, turning to me. "It would be quite the pleasurable time."

"Ew, Jace, shut up." Izzy pushes him away from the table. "We're trying to work here."

He looks at her. "It seems to me that _she's _trying to work. _You,_ on the other hand, most definitely _are not_ working." He grabs an apple from a basket on the table. "So I don't see a problem in coming to say hi and grab something to eat."

"Great. You've got your apple, now take your friends somewhere else."

"But I-" Izzy pushes him away from her firmly.

"We're busy. And I don't want your perverted friends corrupting Clary. It may be too late for me, but those douche-bags you call your friends," she points towards the group of guys who now look over at her, seemingly offended, "have no place corrupting her. So leave us alone."

A dark haired boy with striking blue eyes comes over to Jace. He looks extraordinarily similar to Izzy. "Oh, come on, Iz. I'm not _that_ bad," he says, grinning.

She rolls her eyes. "Please, Alec, give me a break. You need a different category all for yourself. Now get out of here; we actually need to finish our work. Clary needs to get home."

"Are you sure you don't want to stay overnight with us?" Jace asks, turning back to me. "Sebastian said he could use some… entertainment tonight, if you know what I mean." Izzy punches Jace – straight up punches him in the gut – and somebody in the kitchen, probably Sebastian, snorts. I feel my cheeks begin to heat up.

"You sure _I'm_ the one who said that?" The black-haired boy – probably Sebastian – calls from the kitchen

"I'm awed by your wit, I really am," I state dryly, finally finding my voice. "But I'll have to pass on that oh-so-tempting offer. You may find it hard to believe, but some girls actually have class."

Jace's friends go crazy at my retort, but Jace merely raises an eyebrow, his eyes widening only infinitesimally. "We'll see about that," he says quietly after a moment, his voice lacking its previous humor. He pushes away from Izzy to return to his friends. "Come on, Alec."

Alec nods at Izzy, and he and the other boys follow Jace upstairs.

"Sorry about that," Izzy says. "Like I said, they're total dicks. Don't listen to them."

I nod, but all I can think about is Jace's face after I insulted him. He looked almost… like he had been personally challenged, and he'd accepted. What was that all about?

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><p><strong>So what did you think? If you guys leave a lot of reviews I may update twice next week (an extra one on Christmas just for the holidays). Anyways, until then, happy Hanukkah to those who celebrate!<strong>

**Pssst... You guys should all review :D**


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm back with another chapter! Sorry I couldn't get a chapter up yesterday: with Christmas and family I just didn't have enough time to post it. Speaking of which, how were all your Christmases? I hope they went well and were filled with family, food, fun, and presents!**

**This chapter is pretty short, so I'm going to try to post another short chapter tomorrow. My schedule is looking pretty busy then, too, so no promises.**

**Once again, I do not own TMI. :(**

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><p>"All right, I'm done." Izzy closes her sketchpad with a sigh, and slouches down in her chair.<p>

Once the boys had come home, the apartment had become infinitely louder. It had been impossible to focus, but three long breaks and four hours later, we were both finally finished. I look outside. It's already dark, and the rain hasn't let up. The clock to my left reads 8:30 pm.

I just can't wait to walk home in this weather.

"What did you end up drawing?" I ask, turning back to Izzy.

"I guess you'll see tomorrow in class," she smirks.

"That's so not fair!"

"Life's not fair."

I huff, rolling my eyes but smiling nonetheless. "I guess you'll just have to wait to see mine, too, then."

She laughs. "I guess that's reasonable." We sit in silence for a moment. "You know," Izzy says. "It's dark, and the weather's nasty. I know Jace has a few friends over, which will be kind of annoying, but if you want to stay overnight, you can."

I think about saying yes. I've never spent the night at someone else's house before; it could be fun. But then again, if I were to sleep here, I'd need to change, which would momentarily show off my bruises and scars to anybody who was looking. And what if my shirt rode up while I slept? And I'd need to take off my makeup, which would expose the bruises on my face to anybody who looked at me. No, it's too much of a risk. "I really should get home. Thanks for the offer, though."

Sliding my sketchpad into my backpack, I stand and make my way toward the door. "See you tomorrow."

"Wait," Izzy calls. "You're just going to walk home?"

"Yeah, why?"

She gawks. "It's pouring. And dark. And you want to walk through the streets of Brooklyn, alone, with no coat? Sure, that sounds like a _great_ idea."

"Well I don't have a car. And my parents aren't coming to get me."

She sighs. "You're impossible. Wait here, I'll get my mom to drive you." She scurries off, mumbling about how stupid I am and how unfair it is that she doesn't have her license yet.

I contemplate leaving and just walking home by myself. But then again, what's the harm in getting a ride? We live in an apartment now, not an unkempt, thin-walled house. Nobody will be able to tell that we are anything other than a perfect family.

When Izzy comes back down the steps a few minutes later, I instantly regret my decision to get a ride. Following behind her like a chained puppy is Jace, whining about how he wants to spend time with his friends, not drive some "fiery-haired little girl" back to her house because she's "too young to do things for herself." I scowl.

"Sorry," Izzy says. "Mom said she has a headache, so Jace'll have to drive you. I'd have Alec do it, but _somebody_ pinned his parking tickets on _somebody_ else, so Alec's license is suspended."

Jace smirks. "That was pretty great. Although I'm starting to regret it right about now."

I roll my eyes. "It's okay, I'll walk. Wouldn't want to inconvenience you by making you drive me." I turn to open the door, but a strong hand pushes it closed. How did Jace reach the door so quickly?

"Don't be stupid. I'll drive you. I was just giving Izzy a hard time 'cause of how poorly she planned this out."

I sigh. "Fine."

Jace grabs his keys from a drawer and leads me down to the car.

* * *

><p>After I give him my address, the first few minutes of the car ride are spent in such an awkward, deadly silence that I jump in surprise when Jace asks, "So what were you and Iz working on all afternoon?"<p>

I'm so shocked by his question that I can't even think up a snarky response. "We were doing a project for art class."

"You like art?" There's no judgment, no mockery in his voice: just a simple curiosity. I don't trust it.

"What's it to you?"

"I was just wondering; trying to make conversation." I don't respond. "I'll bet you're good. You looked really into it when I came in." He noticed that? "Of course," he adds cockily when I still don't answer. "I'll bet you aren't quite as good as I am."

I look over at him. "You're an artist?"

"Psh, of course! Some of my drawings are probably in the backseat. If you can reach them, you can look at them."

I try not to – I really don't want to care about this player's artistic abilities – but my curiosity gets the best of me. I reach back, grab the first paper that my hand hits, and bring it up to look at it.

I'm thoroughly disappointed.

"A stick figure? Smiling next to a box house?" I flip the paper over only to see the word MAX scrawled in a child's handwriting. "Drawn by a, what, seven year old?"

"That's Max's?" he exclaims, grabbing the paper from my hands. He sneaks a look at it. "Man, I thought I was getting better." He hands the paper back. "I guess he's starting to outdo me."

I can't help it: I laugh.

"Well, Miss I'm-so-good-at-art, I'm not so sure your drawings are any better than mine." He humphs.

"Oh, I assure you, they are."

"I'm waiting for my proof." He looks over at me and smiles. A real smile, not one of his cocky smirks. This smile is refreshing, and it makes his eyes light up so beautifully…

"I guess you'll just have to keep waiting, then," I retort, shaking the thought from my mind. The car stops as we approach my apartment building, and I hop out of the car. "See ya."

Before Jace can respond, I slam the door and sprint inside, out of the rain. When I get up to my apartment, I look out the window. Jace's silver Mercedes remains in the same place I left it. I watch it sit on the curb for a minute or two before it slowly pulls back out onto the street.

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><p><strong>So what do you think of Jace when he's away from his friends? Also, who do you guys want to see more of in the story? If you have any suggestionscomments/ideas leave a review or PM me :D**


	7. Chapter 7

**Wow, I'm so sorry, I could have sworn I posted this last night. When I checked today, though, it hadn't uploaded. So I'm trying again. I hope you all forgive me for not posting yesterday. Today is better than next Friday, right? :D**

**Anyways, I made this extra long for you guys. Enjoy!**

**I still don't own TMI :(**

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><p>I managed to convince Izzy that I had eaten in study hall the period before lunch, so she didn't buy me anything today. Mercifully, she seems to have forgotten about the five dollars I owe her, so I won't need to find a way to steal a few dollars from Dad. I was hoping for lunch to go by smoothly, but apparently Maia and Izzy have other plans.<p>

I'm sitting in the cafeteria with Maia, Izzy, and Jordan when all of a sudden, Maia looks up. "Let's go see a movie tonight," she suggests. "This week has been way too long. I need to do something, and there are no good parties this weekend."

Izzy looks over at her. "That's good by me. Jordan? Clary?"

Jordan nods. "Do I even have a choice?" Maia laughs and turns to me.

I hesitate, knowing it will be hard to convince Izzy that I can't go. "I uh… I have work again tonight."

"Come on!" Izzy whines. "How often do you work?"

"Just Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. It's not that bad, really. Every other day.

"Riiiight. Well, what time do you get off? We can go afterwards."

I don't like where this is going. More than I don't want to be dragged to a movie that I probably won't like, I don't want to explain to Izzy that I can't pay for the movies. "I don't know. Probably around 7:30? Maybe 8. It's okay, you guys can go without me. We can hang out another time."

"Well we wouldn't go before 8, anyways. If we did there would be too many kids there. You can just meet us at the theater. Or we could pick you up from work. We'll do that, pick you up from work. We'll be there at 7:30. Where do you work?"

"Really, Iz, I don't have to go. It's fine."

She rolls her eyes and laughs. "You actually think you're getting out of this, don't you? Come on, what's your work address?"

"You might as well give it to her," Jordan chimes in. "It'll make the whole experience much less painful. Believe me, I've been in your position before."

I roll my eyes. "Fine." I give Izzy the address.

* * *

><p>The door slams behind me as I enter Jonathan's office. I hadn't meant to slam the door, but I hadn't exactly closed it softly, either. Oh well, doors can't feel pain.<p>

Jonathan's head snaps up at the noise, a sinister smile forming on his lips when he sees me. "Clary!" he exclaims. "I missed you yesterday. I don't suppose there's any way I could convince you to take on this job daily, is there?"

"I'm good, thanks," I snap, heading to my small office. "What do you want me to do?"

A pause. "Is everything all right, Clarissa?" I hear him rise from his seat.

"I'm fine, I just-" I stop, realizing he doesn't actually care. He just wants a reason to talk to me and, he hopes, to touch me.

"You just what, Clarissa?" His voice is quiet, caring, and although I tell myself it's just a charade – he doesn't actually care – I speak without allowing myself to do so.

"I just need a few bucks," I whisper, my voice so soft I barely hear it.

I can hear the amusement in his voice as he replies, "I can arrange for that."

"I don't mean my paycheck!" I yell. "You know my father takes those. I need this to pay someone back, so she doesn't start asking questions."

Jonathan is not surprised by this. Not only does he know about my father's abuse; he's the reason my father has gotten away with it for so many years. Which is why I'm not surprised when I hear him move from behind his desk to stand behind me, and I feel his hands sliding up my arms. They are meant to be soothing, comforting, but I know that this will soon lead to something else, and the thought causes chills to run up my spine. "I think," Jonathan whispers, his lips brushing my ear, "that I can arrange for that as well."

I sigh in defeat. I know what the price will be for a mere fifteen dollars. I also know that, to keep Izzy's questions at bay, I'll have to pay it, so I don't object when Jonathan's hands slip to my waist and turn me to face him. I even manage to keep my eyes open and look up at him, knowing it will win me a few extra bucks.

"How much do you want?" He asks. "One?" He presses his lips to my cheek for a split second, and it's all I can do not to recoil from the contact. "Two?" He presses his lips to mine before pulling back once again. "You decide."

I know what he wants. I have to set the tone; that way, if I decide to tell somebody what happened, which he knows I won't do in the first place, he'll be able to claim that I came to him, not the other way around. I close my eyes for a brief moment, preparing myself for what I'm about to do, and then I reach one hand around Jonathan's neck, pulling him down to meet my open lips. Without warning, I shove my tongue into his mouth, forcing myself to think of the money I'll be getting in a few minutes, not the perverted man whose lips are locked with mine. Jonathan's response is instantaneous. Enthusiastically, he explores my mouth with his tongue, pushing one hand up into my hair while the other wraps around my back, pulling me closer to him.

I force myself to allow the kiss to continue for almost a minute, but when Jonathan's fingers begin to toy with the bottom of my shirt, hoping to pull it up, I push away from him. Hopefully, that was enough to get me a good amount more than the fifteen bucks I need, so I'll be able to save some for the next few times I owe Izzy money as opposed to having to repeat this encounter any time soon.

Jonathan digs two twenties out of his back pocket and hands them to me. "Are you sure that'll be enough?" he asks, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from my face. "I wouldn't want you to be short on money." I nod, trying my best to flash him a smile.

He retreats to his desk, and I sit down at mine, disgusted by my actions. _It's worth it,_ I tell myself. _I need the money. It was the only way._ But my thoughts can't shake the horror, the abhorrence I feel by what I have just done. And my heart sinks a little further as I realize that if I ever need more than forty dollars, I'll have to go farther than I already did today.

* * *

><p>"Well, that took you long enough," Izzy grumbles as I slide into the car. It's a Mercedes, the same one Jace drove me home in last night. Speaking of Jace, I wonder if he'll be at the theater. Wait, did I just say that? Since when does Clary Fray care about – or even think about – asshole jocks who obviously want nothing more than to get laid as much as possible? I shake off the thought.<p>

"It's only 7:45, Iz. I told you I might not even be done until 8." And I shouldn't have been done until 8. I hadn't finished all the work Jonathan had wanted me to complete, but after the beginning of my shift, he had been unsurprisingly giddy, so he let me go a little early. Izzy doesn't need to know this though. As Jordan, who's driving, pulls onto the road, he looks back at the two of us in the rearview mirror.

"Chill, Izzy, the movie doesn't start for a half-hour anyway. We have time." Up front, Maia shrieks as a car cuts in front of Jordan and he slams on the breaks to avoid a collision.

"Jordan!" She yells. "Watch the road!"

"What are you talking about?" He laughs. "That car totally cut me off; it's not _my_ fault."

She huffs. "Fine, but make sure you focus. You are sober enough to drive, right?"

"Oh, please, I haven't had anything to drink since last night. I'd never drive this car drunk; it's way too cool. Speaking of which," he turns back to look at Izzy, but Maia grabs him and forces him to look ahead again. He smirks. "Thanks for letting me drive this, Iz. It's sick!"

Izzy raises her eyebrows. "As long as you don't destroy it, don't mention it. If you so much as scratch it, though… well, then I'm telling Jace you stole it. If he knows we took his car, he'll be pissed. This thing is like, his baby or something."

* * *

><p>Jordan manages to get us to the theater without a problem, and we get our tickets and popcorn with about ten minutes to spare. Just as we are about to enter the theater, we bump into Jace, omnipresent followers in tow.<p>

"Well, if it isn't my favorite sister, Isabelle," Jace says, wrapping her in an ostentatious hug. He turns to look at the rest of us, and when he sees me, his eyes light up infinitesimally. Before addressing us, he takes a quick glance at the guys behind him, and when he turns back, that light is gone and his eyes are hard and closed-off. I shake my head, thinking I must have imagined it. "I see you've brought your posse of misfits with you, too." He turns to Jordan. "You've got the drug-addict," he turns to Maia, "the lovesick outcast," he turns to me, pausing a moment before finishing with, "and the new school klutz." He smiles viciously. "Nice group of friends you've got there."

It shouldn't hurt; I know it shouldn't. But that label: one that will, no doubt, stick with me for the rest of my time in high school, makes my heart drop. I'd thought, after our playful banter in his car, that he'd be kind to me, or at the very least not _rude_ to me, but I should have known better. I'm not one of the cool kids; this is the treatment I should expect from them.

The others, however, aren't fazed a bit. "Nice to hear from the guy surrounded by a posse of scum soccer failures," Maia retorts.

Jace's lips just lift into that infuriating smirk, the one that says he's better: better than us, better than the rest of the world. "These _failures_ are all committed to play in college."

"I pity the college that has to deal with them," I bite, successfully finding my voice. Jace's eyebrows rise, a short laugh of surprise escaping his lips.

"I see you've found a voice, Red. I guess it shouldn't surprise me so much, Izzy always seems to befriend the feisty ones." He pauses for a moment, seemingly debating whether or not to continue this spree of insults. He decides against it. "Well, if you'll so kindly excuse us, we have a movie to watch." He and his posse push past us. Calling over his shoulder, he adds, "Oh, and Jordan, if you so much as scratch my car I'll kill you."

Jordan's eyes widen. "How does he know?" he whines. "I thought you said he didn't see you take it."

"I don't even care at this point." Izzy rolls her eyes. "Come on, let's go get our seats."

Trying my best to keep my eyes from drifting back to Jace and his friends, I follow Izzy.

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><p><strong>So what did you think? Yeah, Jonathan is messed up, as is Clary's life... It will get better. But not for a while *devilish smirk*<strong>

**As always, please review if you have any comments or suggestions :D I especially want to know which characters you'd like to see more of.**


	8. Chapter 8

**First off, I'm super duper sorry that I didn't post this on Friday. I really have no excuse other than on top of New Years and being with friends I hadn't seen in a while, I completely, one-hundred-percent forgot that it was Friday. I know, I know, that's a horrible excuse. Anyways, the next chapter is here now :D Enjoy!**

**Also, newbie question: where do people get photos for their stories from? Do I have to make them myself or can I just get them off the internet?**

**I don't own TMI**

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><p>Closing the door as softly as possible, I tiptoe through the living room, hoping not to wake my parents. It's midnight; after the movie, the four of us went to Taki's, a small diner that according to Izzy, has <em>amazing<em> coconut pancakes. I had taken the fact that my dad hadn't sent me an angry text demanding that I come home immediately as a sign that he was okay with me staying out late, but now, walking through this dark, foreboding apartment, I get the feeling that I should have come home earlier.

"Where have you been all night?" The accusatory – and slightly slurred – question stops me dead in my tracks. I stand in the doorway of the kitchen, facing my father, who sits at the table swirling a half-empty bottle of tequila.

"I was out," I say, hoping to slip past him with little questioning. Talking to him while he is drunk is never a good idea, no matter how civilly the conversation begins.

"Where?" Something is wrong. He never cares where I've been unless he had specifically asked me to be somewhere and I didn't show up.

"I went to the movies with some friends, and we went to a diner afterwards. Is something wrong?"

He laughs harshly, lifting the bottle of tequila to his lips for a big swig. When he doesn't answer, I cautiously step towards him, reaching to take the bottle from his hands. "How much of this have you drunk today?"

Swatting my hand away, Dad takes another swig. "Not enough," he mumbles. "I still know where I am."

"Dad," I say warningly. "Don't you think-"

"Don't YOU think you should have been home earlier?" he roars, cutting me off. He slams the bottle down on the table and pushes himself to his feet. He wobbles a little but remains standing. "Your mother asked where you were today. When you didn't come home after work she started crying. Just curled up in a ball and cried, blubbering about how you'd probably gotten kidnapped or something. I tried to comfort her but NO, she needed you, and here you tell me you were off at the _movies_? I couldn't do anything for her. She didn't need me!" He turns away, what look like tears brimming in his eyelids. "She didn't want me," he whispers.

I stand opposite him behind the table, shell-shocked. Mom remembered me? And not only did she remember me, she was worried for me? Granted, her reaction seems a little extreme, but she cared. That's what matters. And now, my father – the man who never shows emotion, who drowns his sorrows in alcohol and makes himself feel powerful by hitting me – stands mere feet away from me: crying? What is going on? "You could have just called me, you know," I say softly, soothingly, because I don't know how else to respond to this unusual display of emotion.

"So now it's my fault you weren't here?" he screams, turning back to face me, a familiar rage taking over his features. There, this I can handle. His anger is what I'm used to. "Is it my fault you were off fooling around with some random people?" He slaps me, and for once, I welcome the sharp sting of his hand because it means we are back to our usual relationship. He's an abusive monster again, not the emotional, needy child who stood before me moments ago. "You should have _known_ not to stay out so late, especially with your mother the way she is."

He lifts his hand once again to strike, but a knock at the door stops it mid-air. "Who is that?" he demands, voice dropping to an angry whisper.

"I don't know," I whisper back.

"Answer it," he bites, shoving me toward the door. "I want whoever it is gone."

I nod, pull my hair over my right cheek to cover the burning mark, and walk through the living room to the door.

A tall man with glasses, blue eyes, and scruffy brown hair stands outside. He looks about my mother's age: probably around forty. He holds a box that looks heavy, and, setting it down, he flashes me a sheepish smile.

"Hi, uh, I was just passing by your door – I was coming home from work – and I heard shouting. I figured, it's late, and I just wanted to make sure everything was okay."

I feel Dad step up behind me, holding the door open for this man to see into the apartment. "Everything's fine," he says, gesturing for the man to look in and see for himself. "See?"

"Oh… I suppose so. That's good, I just wanted to make sure. You can't be too careful, you know."

I smile at him, and he relaxes, seemingly less nervous now that I've given him a welcoming signal. "Thanks, that's very kind of you."

"Yeah well…" He shrugs. "I'm Luke, by the way." He holds out a hand to shake, and I grasp his outstretched hand in mine. "I live right next door. I kept meaning to come over and say hello, but I've been really busy the last couple of days. Haven't been getting home till about this time."

"No worries," my father says, grasping Luke's hand. I wonder how he can jump between such different characters – first an emotional wreck, then an abusive father, and now a friendly neighbor – in such a short time. "I'm Valentine Fray, and this is Clarissa. My wife, Jocelyn, is asleep."

"Nice to finally meet you." A few moments of awkward silence ensue before Luke clears his throat. "Well, it's pretty late, so I'd better get going. Maybe you guys can all come over some time. I'll let you get to bed now, though. Sorry to have bothered you."

As my Dad closes the door, I smile. "He seems nice," I muse.

Dad barely flashes a glance in my direction. "Go to bed. I'm done with you." I nod, eager to escape any more of his drunken wrath – though the encounter at the door seems to have sobered him up.

As I enter my bedroom, I pull out my phone to see a new text from Simon. Smiling, I unlock my phone to see the message.

_Hey, are you awake? ~S_

I smile. I haven't talked to Simon since he wished me luck before my first day of school, and even that wasn't a real conversation.

_Yeah, what's up? ~C_

A few moments later, my phone dings, signaling that Simon has responded.

_Wow, Clarissa Morgenstern awake at this hour? That's a first. You must be getting pretty popular. What have you been doing all night? ;) ~S_

I don't bother telling him my last name is Fray now. It's important, I know, but if I tell him, I'll have to explain the situation to him, and I'm not up for that right now.

_Yeaaa, going to a movie with three other people: I'm the queen-bee can't you tell? ~C_

Three_ people? Do be careful, Clary, you wouldn't want to be overwhelmed by all that popularity. ~S_

_Shut up ~C_

_So how was your first week? ~S_

_Meh, you know ~C_

_Uh oh that's no good. Want to talk? ~S_

Instead of responding, I simply call Simon. Talking to him, the only person I can tell anything to – well, almost anything – without fear of judgment, always makes me feel better. He picks up on the second ring. "Well, if it isn't little-miss-popular Clary. What's up?"

We talk about everything and nothing. I tell him about everything new in New York, and he tells me about everything I'm missing back in Montana. I lie back in bed, smiling. We stay up talking for hours, and by the time I finally go to bed, I can see the first streaks of morning sunlight just barely reaching the horizon. I fall asleep quickly, and for the first time since the accident, I sleep peacefully.

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><p><strong>So there you have it. What do you all think of Luke? I've always thought of him as that well-meaning, awkward guy, so that's what he'll be in the story. As always, if you have any commentssuggestions/concerns, review!**


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm so sorry this didn't get up last night! I tried to post it but the dumb internet wasn't working. Also, I don't know how it happened, but the formatting for this chapter is different than normal... anyways here it is.**

**I do not own TMI**

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><p>I wake to the sensation of somebody stroking my hair caressingly. The feel is so foreign, the caress so rare, that I instinctively recoil from it. I force my eyes open to see none other than my mother sitting on my bed, looking hurt by my retreat. Seeing her there, though, seeing that she recognizes me – that she cares about me – causes a smile to break across my face, and seeing my smile, the corners of Mom's mouth tilt up.<p>

"Mom?" I whisper, worried that if I speak too loud, I'll wake up and find that everything was a dream and my mother still has no clue who I am.

"Oh, Clary," she breathes, throwing her arms around me. "I'm so glad you're all right. Last night I thought something bad had happened to you. You're never out that late. I didn't know what to think. And there's some man here: he says I have to listen to him. He says I don't understand what's happening. Have you noticed him here? You must've. He lives a few rooms down. I don't think we should trust him. I think we need to leave."

My eyes widen. "Mom, that's Dad. You're married to him. We can't just leave." Why does she remember me but not him?

She looks confused, then presses her eyes together hard, raking her memory to try and remember her husband. Finally, she says, "I'm married?"

My heart breaks a little bit. Granted, it would be better if she actually weren't married to my father, but she is and he isn't exactly a part of one's life that is easy to forget.

"Yeah, mom," I explain to her. "You've been married for almost twenty-two years."

She shakes her head. "Why don't I remember this? Why can't I remember anything?"

"Because Dad…" I pause. If she doesn't remember how horrible Dad has been to her, maybe I shouldn't bring it up. Maybe he will change his attitude towards her now that he's seen what his wrath has done to her. "Because there was an accident. We were out, and we don't know what happened exactly, but the doctors say it did something to your brain. That you won't remember everything you used to."

Her eyes water, and she looks so heartbroken I almost begin to cry myself. "Oh, Clary, I'm so sorry," she whispers. "So, so sorry. You don't deserve this. I should remember everything. I should be able to be there for you."

"It's okay, Mom," I assure her. "It wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could do about it." I pull away from her and slip out of bed. "Come on, I'm hungry. What's for breakfast?"

Dad sits in the kitchen, reading a newspaper and drinking from a large mug. Before he sees us, Mom grabs my arm. "That's my husband?" I nod. "And…" she pauses, seemingly unsure of whether or not to ask her next question. Finally, she caves. "Do I love him?"

My mouth drops open. I'm not prepared to answer that! I know that I don't love him: I don't think I do, at least. But Mom always told me that she couldn't leave him because no matter how horrible he could be, she still loved him. She said that there is a part of him, a part that he's hidden from me, from everyone, that is really a good person. That wants what is best for his family. She said I'd see it and understand it when I got older, but that never happened. And now, if she doesn't remember whether or not she loves him, what will happen? Will she leave him? Will she take me? But then, what would become of us? He's the only one with any money, and I'm sure that if we left, I'd lose my job working for Jonathan.

No. We can't leave; we'd starve. As much as it pains me, we have to stay with him a little longer. And as much as I hate saying it, I grit my teeth and tell my mother, "Yeah, I think you do."

She smiles, pleased by the small insight into her old life, and follows me into the kitchen. I nod at Dad as I pass by, and he grunts in acknowledgment, but when Mom reaches him, she sits next to him. "Hi, Valentine."

Where did that come from? I never told her his name. She must remember more than she has let on. Pretending to ignore them, I open the fridge to see what we have as my father looks up at her in shock.

"Jocelyn?" He asks. "You… You remember me?" Out of the corner of my eye, I see her nod.

When I was younger, before I first saw my father hit my mother, she used to tell me stories about the valiant, wonderful, caring man she loved. She said that when they met, her parents had just died. She had been going through a very tough time, but Valentine had saved her. He had pulled her out of a depression, helped her get her life on track, and acted like a perfect gentleman. He'd been protective and loving, and she had fallen wholly and completely in love with him. For years, even after Dad had started hitting me, I held onto the belief that he still loved Mom like that, so we had to stay with him. I had to stay with him for my mom's sake, so that she could be with the man she loved. That feeling vanished the first time I saw Dad hit her, but now, seeing his ecstasy at her memory of him, I glimpse a fleeting image of the man my mom used to describe: a man so loving he'd give up anything for his wife.

"I… I don't remember much," she says, wringing her hands together. "But… but I think I love you. I hope you still love me."

He stares at her, and, giving up my guise of indifference, I turn to watch them. Mom always told me she loved Dad, but I can't remember the last time she said it to him. Evidently, he doesn't remember it either, because his eyes widen in surprise and… love. No matter how he acts around us, no matter how horribly he treats us, he does love her. I was an unwelcome accident to my father – he'd made that clear plenty of times – but his love for Mom is real.

"Of course I still love you," he whispers, brushing his thumb against her cheek. "I never stopped."

And then they are kissing, and I turn away because no matter how sentimental their reunion may be, watching my parents kiss is just weird. Abandoning my small bowl of cereal, I return to my room to quickly change. When I return to the kitchen, my parents are still kissing, so I call out to them that I'm going out and leave the building as quickly as possible. I call Izzy, tell her I'll be over in a few minutes, and hurry to her house to give my parents some privacy.

"So why exactly did you so urgently need to come over at 9:30 on a Saturday morning?" Izzy demands as she opens the door. "I was sleeping!"

"Sorry, my parents, uh… they needed some space," I say, feeling my cheeks heat up a little bit at the thought.

"Oh… OH," Izzy says, ushering me in. "Well, then, come in. That's gross." I nod, following her into a large room equipped with a flat-screen TV and numerous couches that look a thousand times more comfortable than my bed. "Jace is still asleep, Alec's at his friend Magnus's house, and my parents are out at a soccer tournament with Max. Jace didn't bring any friends over last night – thank God – so we have the place to ourselves for a little bit. Want anything to eat?" I shake my head. Although I'm hungry, I've already intruded into Izzy's house. I don't need to take her food, too. She shrugs, goes into the kitchen, and returns a moment later with a chocolate-chip muffin. "Let's watch TV," she says, yawning. "It's too early to think."

For a little over an hour, we do nothing but watch television and idly chat, when suddenly Jace appears in front of the TV. I hadn't even heard him approach.

"I want to watch, Iz," he says, holding out for the remote. Then he notices me. "Oh, hi Clary. When'd you get here?" I ignore him. So today he wants to be nice, but yesterday he had no problem insulting me in front of all his friends?

"Go away, Jace. We're watching," Izzy says, shooing him away. "And don't do that whole sneaking up on us thing again."

I try to ignore how good he looks in nothing but sweats, his chiseled abs on full display.

"What are you watching?" He completely ignores her scolding.

"Gossip Girl. Nothing you want to watch. Now go away."

He pulls his arms over his head to stretch, pulling his muscles taught and showing off his… no, I'm not thinking about him. He looks back at Izzy, a goofy smile playing on his lips. "I guess I'll just have to watch with you, then,"

Izzy rolls her eyes, but Jace just plops down in a couch. And it just so happens that the couch he sits down in happens to be the same one I'm sitting on. And he sits _right next to me._ As in, his shoulders and leg bump mine.

There was plenty of room on the couch.

Izzy coughs, making a sound that sounds a lot like 'man whore,' but both of us ignore it. I carefully inch away from him, putting as much distance between the two of us as possible without falling to the floor.

We start watching another episode, Jace exclaiming things like "I'm _so_ much more attractive than that guy," and "_See?_ Girls _love _it when I do stuff like that. They love it in this show," at all possible moments. Izzy doesn't fail to swat at him with each remark, and she even tells me to punch him at one point, which I do, but he just rubs his arm mockingly, telling me that hurt about as much as having a fly land on his arm.

Finally, after about half an hour of Jace's remarks, Izzy throws her hands up in the air and stands. "Oh my God, Jace, fine! You can watch whatever you want. I'm going to shower, and then I'm taking Clary out. And you're _not_ coming."

Jace laughs. "You think I'd _want_ to come? I have absolutely no desire to go out with you, you'd make me go shopping." He shudders, tossing a smirk my way.

Izzy rolls her eyes and flips Jace off. "You sure don't look like you're planning on leaving Clary alone anytime soon, what with you basically _on top _of her and everything." I feel my face flare red. Mortified, I jump up from the couch as if it were on fire, flopping into the comfy chair that Izzy previously inhabited. Smiling in amusement, Izzy turns to leave the room. "Try not to be too much of a pretentious asshole while I'm gone, Jace," she calls over her shoulder.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he shoots back with a wink.

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><p><strong>Who caught the Malec reference ;) As always, review!<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**Wow, it's Friday again already? Time flies when you're at school and have no time to think or breathe or live or do anything other than cry as your grades go down the drain... just kidding, it's not quite that bad :P**

**Anyways, here is my next chapter. I hope you enjoy! This one's longer than usual :D**

**I do not own TMI**

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><p>After a few minutes of awkward silence once Izzy has left the room, Jace turns to look at me. I've been consciously avoiding making eye contact with him, too mortified by Izzy's words and angry about Jace's remarks yesterday to chance a glance over at him. When he starts to speak, however, my shock at the sound of his voice piercing the silence causes me to snap my head over to look at him.<p>

"Look," he says, "I'm sorry about what I said yesterday. I didn't mean it."

I realize that I should be happy that he is at least apologizing, but instead rage boils up within me. He's going to take that route? After he embarrassed me in front of all his friends, he wants to say he's sorry? That he didn't mean it? I scoff. "Yeah, right. Just like how you didn't _mean_ to bump into me and insult me that first day of school, right?"

"That was different, and I-"

"Jace, shut up. When you drove me home the other day, I thought that maybe you weren't as bad as Izzy said you were. I thought that first day was just you being in a bad mood and taking it out on the new girl or something. I guess I was wrong, huh?"

"Come on, Red, it was just a joke."

"Don't call me that! And since when is ruining my reputation before I even had a chance to meet anyone a _joke_?"

He runs a hand through his hair agitatedly and sighs. "That's not what I meant. I just – I do dumb shit with my friends, okay? But I don't mean any of it. It's all just jokes."

"Well your friends don't seem to realize you _don't mean any of it_," I bite. "So don't try and act all nice and civil to me now, because I know the second you're around one of your friends, your whole 'nice guy' act will go right out the window. And don't you dare deny that." I turn away from him, crossing my hands over my chest.

"But…" he pauses, at a loss of words for once. "So that's it?" he says after a moment. "You want to just ignore each other when we're together? You'd rather sit here in silence than talk to me?" I don't answer him. Maybe I am being childish, but he deserves it. "Fine, don't talk to me. I'm going to get some food."

When he comes back with a muffin and an apple, my stomach betrays me. At the smell of the food, my empty stomach growls hungrily. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jace raise an eyebrow.

"You okay, there?" he asks. I can hear the smirk on his face, and I dig my fingernails into my arms in annoyance. I huff and don't respond. "Hungry?" he asks more seriously.

"No."

He places a muffin on the small coffee-table in front of us, right in my line of sight.

My hunger gets the best of me. I mentally curse myself for abandoning my perfectly good bowl of cereal this morning as I reach for the muffin and devour it.

When I finish, I turn to Jace, who has a peculiar expression on his face. He looks almost – worried? "Did you not eat this morning?" he asks.

"I was busy, okay?" I snap, still not wanting to talk to him.

"Uh-huh. And you just forgot to eat? Like you forget your lunch every day at school? You don't quite strike me as the anorexic type." There's no humor in his voice.

I roll my eyes. "I'm not anorexic." How does he know I never have lunch, anyways?

"Then why don't you ever eat?" he counters.

"I just forget every once in a while, okay?" I snap. Getting defensive probably isn't the best way to convince him that nothing is wrong, but right now I just want him to leave me alone.

"That sounds like something an anorexic would say." I glare at him. "Okay, fine, you're right," he says, but he seems unconvinced. Mercifully, though, he lets the matter drop.

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><p>After ten minutes of long, tense silence, Izzy finally reemerges at the door. Jace has changed the channel to a show I've never seen before, and he barely looks up as Izzy enters, too immersed in the T.V. to pay her any attention. I, however, jump up from the couch as soon as I see her open the door.<p>

"Man, what happened between you two?" Izzy asks nervously. "I've never felt so much tension in a room before in my life."

I roll my eyes. "Who cares? Let's go." I grab her hand and all but drag her out the door. She calls out a good-bye to Jace, who raises a hand in acknowledgement.

After we get into a cab and Izzy directs the driver to take us to some big shopping center, Izzy turns to me. "So what was all that about?"

"All what about?" I drum my fingers on the seat absentmindedly.

"Don't play dumb," she chides. "What happened between you and Jace while I was gone?"

"Nothing. He just tried to apologize for embarrassing me yesterday, and I told him to shut up, that I wasn't forgiving him. How was your shower? Why on earth did it take you so long to get ready?" I ask, trying to change the subject.

She gapes at me, and I shift awkwardly under her gaze. I hadn't noticed it since the first day I met her, but now I understand why everyone at school seems intimidated by Izzy. Her gaze is intense: it makes me want to curl up in a ball and hide. "He tried to apologize?" she finally asks.

"What, is it weird that he'd try to be slightly civil?"

"With Jace? Yeah, it is. I've never seen him apologize for anything in all the time I've known him."

I frown. "What do you mean, _in the time you've known him_? He's your brother."

Izzy's eyes widen, and suddenly she looks much less like an intimidating teenager. She looks a lot more like a child who's just been caught telling the biggest lie ever.

"I didn't mean to say that," she exclaims. "I mean, I…" she pauses, trying to get her thoughts together. "I… Jace is adopted," she finally squeaks out. I lift my eyebrows, but I'm not that surprised. Jace looks nothing like Izzy, Alec, or Max, who all have much darker hair and a darker skin-tone than Jace's light blond hair and tanned but light skin. "We adopted him when he was ten. I'd met him before, but mainly our parents were just friends. He uh…. didn't have the best childhood. I think that's why he's such a dick sometimes." She pays the cab driver and we get out. "I don't know much about it. And you can't tell _anyone_. I don't even think his closest friends know about it."

I'm quiet for a moment. I almost feel sorry for acting so hostile towards him: after all, what if he's just really sad and bitter about the loss of his parents and has no way to cope but to take his anger out on others? But then I think about how mad I'd be if somebody felt sorry for me because of my situation, and I slowly allow my anger to seep back. Unable to keep my curiosity at bay, however, I quietly ask, "What happened to his parents?"

She shrugs. "They died. House fire, I think. He was there when it happened, had some major burns. That's why he has so many tattoos now, to cover the scars. That's about all I know, though." I nod. I can tell she wants to talk about this, but it's not really something for my ears to hear.

She forces a smile. "Let's go shopping, shall we?"

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><p>I allow Izzy to drag me from store to store for a couple of hours without complaint. I even try on a few dresses – me, dresses! – before Izzy looks down at her watch as we exit yet another store, arms loaded down with bags. "It's already 3:30?" Izzy exclaims. "Man, I'm hungry. Let's go get some food."<p>

I shrug, happy to be relieved from my role as Izzy's personal clothing assistant.

When I see the restaurant Izzy has chosen, I laugh. "Do you ever eat anywhere other than Taki's?" I joke. "I mean, even that muffin you had this morning was from there."

Izzy just shrugs. "Why would I eat anywhere else? They have everything here. Plus, they're open twenty-four hours, so I can come whenever I want."

I shake my head. "Okay, Iz. Whatever you say." I follow her into the small restaurant.

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><p>We're seated by a waitress named Kaelie, a tall, green eyed girl with breasts so big they must be 90% fake. She shoots us a plastic smile as she seats us, greeting Izzy by name and shooting me a quick nod. Izzy orders coconut pancakes and a milkshake, but when Kaelie turns to me and I check the money in my pocket to see how much I have left, my heart drops. Only ten dollars. All that I did, all that time spent locking lips with such a disgusting man, and I'm already down to just ten bucks? I order a chocolate milkshake, assuring Izzy that the muffin I ate at her house had tided me over pretty well.<p>

As soon as Kaelie leaves with our orders, I turn to Izzy. "Really? Coconut pancakes at three in the afternoon?" I tease. "Aren't pancakes more of a morning meal?"

"Oh shut up, miss 'I eat nothing at all, ever,'" she responds. "I'll have you know that these pancakes are the best things you'll ever taste in your life. I'd eat them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

I laugh at her disregard for social norms, and she lightly slaps me on the arm. Just as she does this, the bells on the door ring, sounding the entrance of another customer, and I stop laughing at the sight of _him_.

Izzy turns to see the intruder just as he wraps an arm around her shoulder and sits down in the booth next to her, shoving her lightly to the side. "What's up with you two?" Jace smirks. "Having fun being dragged around by Izzy?"

"Shut up, Jace, I'm not dragging her anywhere," Izzy complains as she shoves his arm off her shoulder. "We're having fun, right Clary?"

"I nod, hoping to stay out of any conversation with Jace.

Jace smirks. "Of course she'll side with you, Izzy; she's still holding out against me. Don't worry though, she'll come around. And when she does, she'll admit how terrible shopping with you is."

Izzy tries to shove him out of the booth, but Jace is too strong. "Having fun there?" he asks with an amused smirk when she doesn't let up.

"God, Jace! Why are you here anyway?" Izzy asks, finally giving up her attempt to push him out.

"Well, actually," Jace starts, "I came because we finished all of the muffins and I figured I'd be a nice brother and get you some more, but now that I see you're here, well, I might as well hang out and grace you two with all my Godly presence."

"That's really thoughtful of you and all, but seeing as we've gotten this far without you, I think we'll be okay for a few more hours, don't you think?" Jace turns to me, shocked. Did I say that? I don't remember opening my mouth.

"Oh, but you just weren't aware of the effects of hanging out around me. Once you realize, you'll be begging me to stay," Jace retorts, quickly recovering from his surprise.

"Do those effects include an ego the size of New York and the sadistic enjoyment of others' embarrassment?" I reply sweetly. "Because if so, we'll definitely be okay without you here."

He snickers. "Oh no. I was more focused on the mind-blowing sex that would undoubtedly ensue after spending an entire afternoon with someone as… gifted as I am. After all, spending an afternoon with all this," he gestures to his body, "does things to a girl, I've been told."

I feel my cheeks flame bright red, and I stare at him speechless as his smirk grows. "Alright," Izzy cuts in. "You've had your fun. Now get your muffins and get out of here." She pushes him from the booth and this time he doesn't resist. He stands in front of the table, only to come face-to-face with Kaelie, who has just returned with our milkshakes.

"Hey, Jace," Kaelie coos, leaning over to place our drinks on the table. Leaning over _very_ far, putting her plastic boobs on complete display for Jace. I fight the urge to gag.

Jace, however, seems more than interested. "Hey Kaelie," he replies, openly staring down her shirt. Kaelie, unperturbed, stands up slowly and turns to face him head on.

"It's been a while, Jace. How have you been?" She twirls a strand of hair around her finger, biting down lightly on her bottom lip. Izzy rolls her eyes, imitating Kaelie's slutty actions. I snort, and Jace's eyes flick over to me for a moment before returning to Kaelie's body. His eyes rake over her like she's meat to be had, and by the way she's presenting herself, that's exactly how Kaelie wants him to look at her.

"Actually, Kaelie, I came in need of some more muffins. Those two," he points to us, but Kaelie doesn't spare a glance over, "finished them off this morning. So I was wondering," he leans over so his lips are nearly brushing her lips. "If you'd like to take me to the back and give me what I want." Izzy makes a choking sound, but Jace ignores her.

Kaelie giggle, a high-pitched, plastic sound. "Why of course. All you had to do was ask." She grabs him by the wrist, directing him through the doors marked 'employees only.'

For a moment, Izzy and I just sit in shocked silence. Finally, Izzy coughs out a laugh. "Well, at least we got rid of him."

I force a smile. "That's true. I doubt we'll be seeing either of them for a while. Thank God."

"Remind me never to touch the muffins Jace brings home this afternoon," she says, looking slightly sick. I laugh.

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><p>When Kaelie finally returns with Izzy's pancakes, her hair out of place, makeup slightly smudged, Izzy and I roll our eyes. Jace is such a man-whore, and Kaelie's morals? Nonexistant.<p>

So what's with that little nagging feeling inside of me? It's not… jealousy, is it?

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><p><strong>So there you have it. As always, if you have any suggestions, or there are any characters you want to see moreless of, review! Or just review about anything; they make me really happy!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hi everybody, I'm back! I didn't have too much time to edit or look over this since I've been busy studying for the SATs tomorrow, but I think it came out pretty well! :D If there are any grammar or spelling mistakes, though, I blame my overworked brain :p**

**Anyways, enjoy! Things are starting to pick up :D**

**I do not own TMI**

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><p>With an exasperated sigh, I pick my eraser up, rubbing furiously at the corner of my paper. It's been almost half an hour, and I still can't get the shading right. How hard should drawing a simple tree be? I look back out the library window. It's just an evergreen. Sketching the mundane shape of the trunk and leaves were easy, but now that I am trying to shade it in, I can't get it to look right. The sun's rays seem to awaken the leaves, and their bright green color bursts from each bristly leaf, creating a beautiful glowing aura around the tree. There is no way I can portray this with just my ebony pencil. I toss the sketchbook onto the table, pound my pencil down angrily, and lean back in my chair.<p>

My stomach growls hungrily. It is lunch period, but I didn't have art this morning, so Izzy wasn't there to drag me to the dining hall and make me buy food with money I don't have. Over the past three days, I have had no choice but to spend the last of my money on stupid cafeteria food because Izzy refused to take no for an answer. I'm already dreading going to work tomorrow. One week and I already ran out. How am I going to do this? I can't make out with Jonathan every Friday: that would make him expect it, and that would decrease the money I get for it. Also, making out with Jonathan every week? Ew. Just ew.

I sigh and close my eyes, sliding down in my chair. Screw Izzy making me get lunch every day. Now my body expects it, and going without is even worse than it used to be. I check my watch. I still have half an hour until lunch is over. Half an hour of sitting alone, thinking of nothing but how hungry I am.

"This is a really good drawing." Somebody sits down next to me. "I guess you really can draw, after all." Wait, I know that voice.

"Go away, Jace." I don't bother opening my eyes.

"But I'm looking at this. Besides, since when did the library become your private room? I have as much a right to be here as you do." I open my eyes to see Jace about to turn the page of my sketchbook. In a flash, I slap my hand down on top of it to stop him.

"Well _this_ is private."

He smirks in that infuriating way of his, a look that screams arrogance. "Why can't I see them? I let you see the drawings in my car."

"We're not even friends, Jace. Leave me alone." I pull my sketchbook to me, close it, and shove it into my backpack before he can try to look at any of the other pictures.

"That hurts, Red. That hurts a lot."

"Shut up." I roll my eyes.

"So what are you doing in the library during lunch? Starving yourself again? I thought Izzy helped you get over that phase."

"I was just drawing. And I'm not starving myself."

"Uh huh." He rummages for something in his bag. "Well I bought an extra sandwich since I figured you'd be here hungry. So here you go." He tosses a PB&J sandwich on the table in front of me and pulls out one of his own.

"I can't pay you back for this, Jace." _What? That's not what I meant to say. That means that I don't have money._ I quickly backtrack. "I mean, I don't have any with me. You keep it."

"If I expected you to pay me for it, I would have asked for your money before giving it to you."

I shake my head, forcing myself not to take the food. "Why are you even here in the first place?"

Without missing a beat, he bites into his sandwich. "I didn't see you in the cafeteria, so where would you be but here? You never bring your own food so…" he shrugs. "I brought you some."

I raise my eyebrows skeptically. "You just left your friends and came to the library during lunch because you didn't see me in the cafeteria?" I don't believe him. This is Jace; he doesn't do things just to be nice.

"Yep." When I don't respond for a minute, he seems to finally sense that something is off. He glances over at me. "What?"

"Since when does big, macho Jace abandon his group of big macho jerkwads to bring lunch to his younger sister's awkward, clumsy friend?" I laugh. "What's up with you?"

"What? I can't just want to do something nice?" His voice has taken a hard edge to it.

"Jace Lightwood? Do something nice? For no reason? Yeah, that's totally normal," I bite sarcastically.

He doesn't respond, and when I look over at him from the sandwich I've decided to start eating, he looks guarded. His golden eyes, which were bright and welcoming when he first sat down, are now cold and hard. He opens his mouth and mumbles something, but I don't catch what he says. It sounded something like, "That's not my name."

"What?" I ask, my voice sickly sweet. His words confuse me, but a part of me likes that I can hurt Jace as much as he hurt me. Wow, that sounds horrible when I admit what I'm actually doing. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

"Never mind," he bites, voice as cold as his eyes. "I thought maybe we could act civilly towards each other. That we'd just started off on the wrong foot and if I didn't act like such an ass we could actually be civil. I guess I was wrong."

"And what caused that sudden change of heart, huh?" I retort, growing angrier by the second. "Did you need a new fuck-buddy? Was Kaelie not good enough last weekend?" I don't know where this anger has come from, but now that I'm letting it out, my rant won't stop. "You think I'm just gonna push everything aside, forgive you for all you did and hop into bed with you? Sorry to disappoint you, Jace, but I'm an actual living, breathing person. I have a life; I have feelings. And I'm not stupid enough to just throw those to the side and pretend you aren't the rudest douchebag I've ever met. So leave me alone."

I grab my bag and sandwich and move to stand, but Jace grabs my arm. "And what? You don't think I have a life or emotions or a past? Sure, I'm a douche. I admit it. But I have my reasons. And I'm trying to _apologize_ for what I've done. But you're too stubborn to even listen to my apology." He takes a breath, his grip tightening on my arm for a moment before it releases, pushing me away and causing me to stumble over the chair. "Fine, then. Don't listen to me. Leave. I deserve it, after all."

I'm shocked. He's apologizing? "Jace, I-"

"I said, go away." His eyes are more than cold and guarded now: they're frozen, dangerous. This isn't the time to push him.

"Fine." I turn away from the table and head back to the locker pod.

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><p>I slam my locker shut and zip up my books with ten minutes to spare until class. With a sigh, I turn away from my locker.<p>

And immediately jump back in surprise, hitting my head on the locker I've just closed.

Jace's whole posse surrounds me. They all stand less than a foot away from me. All of his friends that I saw with him on the first day of school are there. The only one missing is… Jace.

"Hello," I squeak, suddenly very conscious of my small 5'1" frame surrounded by a large group of strong, 6'+ athletes. "Do you need something?"

The tall, dark haired boy – Sebastian, I remember – stands directly in front of me. Before I have time to react, he shoves me against the locker pod and leans over me, hands on either side of my head. My heart starts to race. Standing here, with all these tall guys around us, nobody will be able to see what he's doing. "Yes, actually, I do need something," he growls. His eyes look like black pits. There is no light to them; he's completely serious. And completely dangerous. "I was wondering what you and Jace were up to this period. He slipped out of the cafeteria mumbling something about you, and we haven't seen him since. So I was wondering, what would a popular senior guy be doing hanging around a geeky new junior? Care to enlighten me?"

I refuse to be intimidated. "We were just talking." I'm surprised by how steady my voice sounds.

"Oh really?" I nod. "Well, then, where would we be able to find him now?"

"I don't know. I'm not his babysitter. Like you said, Jace is a senior. He's a big boy; he can take care of himself."

"A little feisty, aren't we?" He leans down closer and plays with a strand of my hair. "You know, you really don't have that bad of features. You could be pretty if you didn't cover up so much." _Where did that come from_? He turns to look at the group surrounding us. "What do you guys think? If she wasn't such a prude… think she'd stand a chance?"

One boy, a pale boy with long silver-white hair, snickers. "She'd have more than a chance. She'd be bangin'."

I shrink back against the lockers, wishing Jace were here. He wouldn't let them talk about me like this, would he? I shudder. "Get away from me," I warn, my voice low.

"Oh, come on sweetie, we were only paying you a compliment. This is what I mean about being a prude." He leans even closer and places his lips right next to my ear. "I'll bet you're a pretty good kisser, as well," he whispers so that nobody but I can hear him. "That's what Jonathan says, anyways."

My blood runs cold and I instantly pale. "You… you know Jonathan?" I stumble out.

He nods. "Oh yes. He and I go way back. Said you can actually be quite fun under the right… circumstances." He pauses. "I can't quite picture that, though. You seem a true prude. Guess it's a question for another time, though." He makes a big show of pushing away from me. "Well now that that's settled," he says, much louder this time. "Have fun in class. See you later, klutz."

I keep my eyes glued to the floor until the whole group leaves the pod, following Sebastian like they usually follow Jace. Only when I'm sure they are all gone do I look up. Jace stands at the end of the locker pod, studying me like he would an opponent on the soccer field. He's sizing me up, but what he's trying to figure out, I cannot tell. I briefly wonder how much of that encounter he has witnessed, and when we make eye contact, I see the truth. He's been there the whole time, and he did nothing about it.

He turns away quickly, head down, and follows his friends without a word.

The bastard.

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><p><strong>So what do you all think about Jace and Clary's relationship? Should there be more tension, or should I get to it and have them start making up already? As always, review with your suggestions!<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey guys, so this chapter is from the same day as the last one (actually, the next chapter will be from this day too, it's a pretty eventful day evidently). Just so you understand Clary's thought process and all that, I figured you should know. **

**ALSO, I'm out of pre-written chapters D: Up until this point, I've had the next chapter(s) already written for the next week so that if I didn't have time to write, I could still post. So what does that mean for you guys? If you have ANY suggestions on what should happen soon/ who you want to see more of, etc, PLEASE tell me because I'll most likely be able to fit that into the next chapter or in the chapter after :D**

**So, without further ado, enjoy!**

**I do not own TMI**

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><p>"Clary!" I turn to see Jordan sprinting through the crowds to reach me. School is over, and I'm trying to get out of the area as quickly as possible. I just want to go somewhere private, away from Jace, away from Izzy (who will ultimately lead me to Jace, since he always seems to be around when she is), and away from all the drama and tension that has already built up after just a week here. All I want to do is call Simon and pretend I never left home; that I'm not in New York with a totally screwed up life that just keeps getting more complicated. I need to think.<p>

I'm still not sure what I think of Jordan: I haven't seen him actually drinking or doing drugs, but that doesn't mean I trust him. He seems like a loose cannon: he hasn't done anything bad yet, but he may go off any second, and when he does, somebody is going to be in trouble. I let him catch up to me, though, because I don't really have a reason not to. "What's up?"

When he reaches me, he grabs onto my shoulders and bends over to catch his breath. "Maia and I are going to the park to hang out," he wheezes. "Wanna come?"

I toss the offer around in my mind. It's an attractive offer: with Jace hating Jordan and Maia as much as he seems to, and with no mention of Izzy coming, I shouldn't run into him. Plus, I should hang out with somebody other than Izzy: as much as I love her, I should at least try and make some more friends. I'm about to accept the offer, but then… "Aren't you two, like, dating?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, so?"

"So you're asking me to third-wheel?" He's trying to reach out to me, make me feel welcome, but this is the worst possible way to do that.

"Well… no. I was thinking more just hang out as friends. Not have you awkwardly third-wheeling." He shrugs, looking slightly embarrassed that he didn't think about that. "We won't… I mean… We'll behave?" He says it like a question, and I let out a laugh.

"It's okay, Jordan, I need to get home anyways. We can hang out another time, though." I smile at him, ducking out from his hold on my shoulders. "Go have fun with your girlfriend."

He winks suggestively. "Oh, trust me. I will." I roll my eyes and we part ways.

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><p>Now that I've told Jordan I'm going home, I don't have much of a choice but to do so. I get home around 3:30, before my father. Mom is nowhere to be found, which is odd, but she has been getting better. She's probably out at some therapy session or something, so I don't worry. I head to my room, texting Simon to call me when he gets out of school.<p>

His call comes mere minutes after my text. I pick up on the second ring. "What are you doing, you idiot," I greet him with a smile on my face. "You're not out of school yet, are you?"

"It's nice to talk to you, too," he replies. I can practically hear his smile through the phone. "School's not out yet, but you can only sit through so much Spanish lecturing. I told Mr. Johnston that your text was from my mom and there was a family emergency, and he let me go without question.

"Of course he did." I laugh. Mr. Johnston is so gullible. "So where are you now?"

"Sitting in my car in the parking lot. Speaking of which, I should probably at least leave the area so that if a teacher comes out he won't see me. Hold on, I'm going to Dairy Queen." A few minutes later, he calls me back. "Okay, now I can talk. What's up?"

I smile. "Nothing, I just wanted to talk. Everything's so busy and stressful here. I miss Montana. Life was so much easier."

He laughs. "Yeah, I wish you were still here, too. School's terribly boring without you to make fun of all our teachers. Now the only class I know anyone in is math." We'd had the same schedules before I left, so we had spent countless hours joking about our teachers and laughing at some of them. Now, though, I barely recognize the names of any of the teachers he talks about, and he obviously doesn't know mine. Man, do I miss being there.

"How's the band going?" I ask, eager to change the topic. "Still playing in your basement?"

"No, my mom kicked us out; she said we were being too loud. We're practicing in Eric's garage for the time being. Oh! But there is good news! We booked a gig for next week. We're finally getting stage time!"

I squeal into the phone. "Oh my gosh Simon! That's great! Where? What are you-"

"Yeah," he cuts me off, laughing. "We can't wait. We finally won't be stage virgins anymore. Although you seem a little bit more excited than even we are."

"If you were here, I'd slap you," I joke.

"What!?" he exclaims. 'For the virgin comment? It's true!"

"I know, I know." I sigh. "I'm so happy for you. I really wish I could be there." Great, another problem with moving to New York. I'm going to miss my best friend's first stage performance.

"Well, if your dad hadn't just up and left all of a sudden for no reason, maybe we could," he jokes. I freeze. I still don't feel comfortable talking about what happened that night, and even though he hasn't said anything wrong, I can't find the words to respond. When a few minutes pass in silence, he speaks again, his voice worried. "Clary? You know I'm joking, right. I know you had no choice."

I sigh, snapping out of my daze. "I know. I just wish I could be there."

"Yeah… Anyways, enough about me. How's everything going in the big city? What's so stressful all of a sudden?"

I want to tell him about everything that has happened: Mom coming home, Jace and his friend Sebastian, Jonathan, Izzy, Jordan, but something stops me. He seems to be doing so well. His band is finally becoming successful. Even though I'm not there, he sounds happy. I've already rained on his parade by shutting down when he mentioned my leaving, and I don't want to make his day any worse. So instead of spilling out all my thoughts and feelings, as I'd planned to do when I called, I simply say, "Oh, it's nothing. Just school mixed with being new here. It'll pass."

"Do you wanna talk about it?" He's such a good friend, always willing to listen to any of my problems. I don't deserve that.

"No, I'm okay. I really should get going though." That's a total lie, but if I stay on the phone I'll blurt out everything that's on my mind, and he shouldn't have to worry about me. "You probably have band practice or something to get to. I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah, I should get ready to head to Eric's. Since we booked the gig, we've started practicing a lot more. Don't want to mess up on stage, ya know?"

"Okay." I try to smile. "Call me later, yeah?"

"Of course. Talk to you later, Clary."

I hang up the phone and scream into the pillow on my bed. Everything's just getting worse. Not only am I having a terrible time here, now Simon's moving on? I shouldn't be upset about it; he has a right to be happy, not mope about my leaving. And sure, it's only a gig, no big deal. But soon that one gig with his bandmates will lead to him spending more time with them, and soon he'll have no time for me. We're drifting apart already, after just a week. Since when did I keep my thoughts and feelings from Simon like this? Ugh. That call was supposed to make me feel better, but instead it just made me more confused.

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><p>A door's slam jolts me awake. I don't remember falling asleep, but when I look over at the clock it is almost 7. Dad probably just got home. Groggily, I rub my hand over my face and glance at my phone. Five missed calls. All from Dad. Shit! Something's very, very wrong.<p>

"Clarissa?" Dad's voice calls through the house. He sounds frantic, and I scramble out of bed and race towards the door. He beats me there, however, and the door swings open just as I am about to open it. The side of the door slams into my forehead, and I fly backwards, landing on my butt in the middle of the room. I bring a hand up to my head. A bump is already forming.

"Clarissa! There you are! Why have you been ignoring my calls?" Dad steps into the doorway and crosses his arms. He makes no move to help me, and as I stand I take in his disheveled appearance. He looks frantic: his normally pressed dress suit is sweaty and crumpled, as if he has been running in it, and his tie hangs awry around his neck. Never in my life have I seen him look so unprofessional: even drunk, even in his pajamas, he looks more put together than he does now. I stare at him, too shocked to process his words, until his sharp words pierce the silence once again. "Clarissa! I'm talking to you! What have you been doing?"

"I'm sorry Dad, I was sleeping," I squeak, keeping my gaze from meeting his. "What's wrong? Why did you call me so many times?"

"Sleeping? That's your excuse?" He shakes his head. "So you've been here the whole time, and you didn't notice anything weird? Anything unusual?" His condescending tone makes me want to slap him. I'm a teenager, not a baby. If he has to reprimand me, he can do so without skirting around the issue.

"No… No, I don't think so," I say, racking my brain. "I mean, define unusual. There's not really a set 'usual' in this house."

The slap doesn't surprise me at all. I should have expected it, back-talking him like that when he is obviously hurt and worried. The reasoning doesn't stop the sting of his blow, though. I place a hand on my cheek but don't back down.

"You stupid little girl. You really don't see, do you?" He steps towards me, too close. He never gets this close to me unless he's about to really hurt me, and that's never happened unless he was drunk. I can smell his breath from this close, though. He's sober.

"See what?"

"Your mother is gone, or didn't you notice? She was supposed to be here, and at 4:30 she was supposed to go to a therapy session. The doctors said she'd be fine getting there on her own. She promised me she'd be fine getting there on her own. But she never showed up. I tried to call you to see if you knew where she went, but obviously you didn't get the calls. So, I'm asking you now, in person." He grabs my chin and lifts it up so my gaze meets his. "Have you seen your mother this afternoon?"

I force myself to keep eye contact even though all I want to do is turn away and hide. I had known something was off when I came in earlier. I shouldn't have dismissed it so quickly. "No, I haven't."

His face contorts into a mixture of hatred and anger. His lips press into a thin line, and his eyes narrow dangerously. He stares at me for a moment, seemingly unsure of how to respond, and then he reacts in the only way he knows how. His hand balls into a fist and he punches me square in the eye. For the second time that hour, I fly to the floor at my father's hand, and I prepare myself for more blows to follow. When nothing comes, I glance up at my father.

"You worthless child," he spits, eyes void of emotion. "You couldn't even keep tabs on your mother. You're useless, you know that? How could you come home and not see her and not think anything of it?"

"Like you said, Dad, she had an appointment. I thought she had maybe just left early-"

"So you thought you'd check and show your compassion by falling asleep without so much as calling one of us? What if she's hurt, Clarissa? What if she's searching for us, but she's forgotten how to find us?"

I glare up at him. I haven't gotten up; I know that if I do, he will just push me back down. That's how these things go. When he's feeling nervous or unconfident, he has to be on top: he needs to see his superiority. I'm sick of it. "That wouldn't exactly be my fault, now, would it?"

He smiles sinisterly. "Don't try to start this fight with me, Clarissa. We both know who has the power here. If you don't like the way I run things, you're more than welcome to leave at any point. But you won't, we both know that. And why not? Because without me, what are you? Nothing. And you know it. Don't you forget that." With these words, he turns and exits the room. "Don't come out of your room," he calls without turning back. "We wouldn't want you getting lost, too, now, would we?"

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><p><strong>Yay, so something exciting happened! Where did Clary's mom go? Brownie points for anyone who guesses the answer :)<strong>

**As always, please please please review! Getting them really makes my day, and it's really the only way to tell if you guys like what I'm doing.**

**Until next time, see you!**


	13. Chapter 13

**So there's good news and bad news for this chapter. I'll start with the bad news so we can end on a good note:**

**Bad news: I'm out of extra chapters for this story. My life is super super super super busy (I can't emphasize this to you; I literally have absolutely no time for anything), so it is really hard to write new chapters. This one took me about two and a half weeks to get it to sound good. So in the interest of having good, high quality chapters, I will no longer be posting weekly. I'm sorry but I just need more time to write. So how often will I post? That depends on you. I thought I wouldn't do this when I started, but I will not post the next chapter until I have 5 more reviews and at least one week has passed. No, this is not because I hate you or anything. Reviews really do make me want to write more: they are the only indication I get of how you are liking the story. As a response and a thank you, I will either give you a shout out for a review or I will respond to your review. I'm really, really sorry that I have to do this, and I hope you can all forgive me, but I really have no other choice: if I want my work to be good, I need more time and more motivation.**

**There is good news though: This chapter is long. Like, super duper long. More than twice as long as any other chapter I have written this far. They will probably not all be this long; this scene just kept going and going and going, and I had to put it all together as one chapter. So I hope the length of this chapter is enough to make up for the bad news I mentioned. Again, really sorry about that.**

**FYI this chapter is still on the same day as the chapters previous. It's a Thursday in the end of October for anybody who's trying to determine how long Clary has been in New York. She's been there a little over a month.**

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><p>I sit on my bed, head in my hands. Mom had been getting so much better; how could she have just disappeared like that? Sure, she isn't fully better yet, and she probably never will be, but this seems out of character. I glance up, and my eyes lock on a picture on my nightstand. It's my favorite picture of me with my mother, taken on one of the few occasions we went anywhere without my father.<p>

It was taken about three years ago, when Dad had been in Italy on business. Mom had come into my room just after he left and told me to pack my bags. She wouldn't tell me where we were going until we arrived at an airport and boarded a plane headed for New York. It was my first time out of Montana; my first time on a plane, and to say I was excited would be an understatement. Mom told me that an old friend of hers had paid for the trip, and she went out the first night to meet him for dinner and a movie. I had stayed back to unpack the first night, but the next day, after hours of shopping, eating, and exploring the city, Mom brought me to the Brooklyn Bridge at sunset. The view was breathtaking, so we took a picture.

I pick up the picture and study it. I want to be back there: on the bridge with my mother without a care in the world.

And now I can be. I may not be able to go with my mother, but perhaps visiting the bridge will help clear my head. Suddenly, I don't just want to go; I need to. I throw my shoes on and open the door to the kitchen.

Dad is nowhere to be found, so I hurry out of the apartment before he can find me and ask what I am doing. I'm not sure why I feel this sudden pull to the bridge – I think a small, irrational part of me hopes that my mother will be waiting for me there – but all I can think about is getting there. The sun has set already, but the city still bustles with life: I guess New York really is the city that never sleeps. Nobody pays attention to me, just another small girl pushing her way through the bustling crowds. I don't stop walking until I get to the bridge.

When I do arrive, I suddenly feel drained. There are swarms of people here, but nobody seems to even closely resemble my mother. In fact, it would be nearly impossible to find anybody among this swarm of people. I lean against the railing, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. I'm a small girl, barely over 5'. I'm alone, and bruises are forming on my face. I left my phone at home so my dad couldn't call me, I have no coat on – I ran out without grabbing it – and the air is getting chillier. What was I thinking coming out here all alone? I sigh and stare out at the New York City skyscrapers. Being here won't fix anything. I'll just relax here for a few minutes, I decide, and then I'll go home.

The skyline is beautiful. Light pours from the buildings' windows, illuminating the city and reflecting off the water. Cars whizz behind me, the sound of their horns and tires piercing my ears. As I stare out at the water, the sounds around me: the cars, the people, the announcements from vendors, start to fade. The water mesmerizes me: the light ripple left behind by the wind, the foamy swirls that form after a boat passes through.

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><p>The minutes meld together and fly by, and suddenly I look up from my trance in surprise. I'm no longer sure how long I've been on the bridge, but the atmosphere has definitely changed from when I got here. When I arrived, everybody was focused on their own lives: they were heading towards dinner, or the movies, or home, or to meet a friend. Men, women, adults and children traversed the walkways. Now, I see no children. Most of the people around have no destination in mind: they loiter on the bridge, joking or arguing with each other. Groups of large, intimidating teens and adults converse in loud groups, passing around cigarettes and cans of beer. My heart begins to race: this isn't good. This isn't good at all.<p>

"Any reason you're hanging out alone on the Brooklyn Bridge at quarter to ten?" The inquisitive voice makes me jump in surprise, and I spin towards it with fists flying. Strong hands catch mine easily, and I let out a squeal of terror before looking up to face the man in front of me. My shoulders slump in relief. I never thought I'd say this, but seeing Jace here is one of the most comforting sights I've seen in a while.

I don't let him know that, though. Instead, I roll my eyes. "Don't scare me like that," I scold. "I thought you were some random creep trying to kill me!"

"Which begs the question: if you were so worried about these people trying to kill you, why were you out here all alone so late at night?" He shakes his head, somewhere between amused, annoyed, and curious.

I pull my hands from his and turn back to look over the bridge. "I was just, um…" I struggle to think up a reason that I'd be out here so late at night. "I just wanted to go for a walk. Get some fresh air," I throw out lamely. It's kind of the truth; I did technically go for a walk. It may have been a couple of miles in the dark, but it was a walk nonetheless. He raises his eyebrows, unimpressed by my answer, and I spin to face him in exasperation. "What about you, huh? What are you doing out here alone at this time of night?" I mock the way he asked me the same question. "Because unless one of these guys is your drug dealer, you seem kind of out of place here too."

He smirks. "Well I do happen to be just a _little_ taller and stronger than you, I must admit." I scoff at his sarcasm. "So I don't have quite as much to worry about. But, if you must know, I was just out on an evening run and stopped here to – what happened to your eye?" His fingers reach up to brush the side of my left eye, the one that my dad punched. Shit, I hadn't even considered running into somebody I knew while I was out: I don't have a preconceived cover story for this.

"I, um… I was running out the door, and my dad was rushing in, and he kind of opened the door right before I did and it smacked into me," I rush out more quickly than I should have. That sounded rushed, faked, like I have something to hide. He frowns.

"I would believe that. But why is your forehead so swollen, too?" His fingers sweep to the other side of my head, where the bump that I actually got from hitting the door throbs painfully. "This one looks more like it could be from the edge of a door. Your eye… that looks like someone hit you."

I scoff, although I really want to throw up. Jace may not know about my dad, but his intuition is going to be hard to fool. "Right, 'cause I'm totally the girl getting into fights and stuff. While I wish I could say that I got these bruises in an epic street fight or something, I can't. The door hit me, and I fell and hit the edge of a chair. It's not a big deal."

"Mmhmm." He isn't fooled: he knows I'm lying, or at least he knows that something is off. "Well how about we get out of here. The way these guys are looking at you is starting to creep me out."

"Aww, is little Jacey worried about me?" I coo, surprised at his display of worry. "What happened to the guy who buries his emotions behind his sarcastic wit?" I smirk and pull away from him as an idea pops into my head. Jace seems uncomfortable here: this would be a good place to torment him as retribution for what he did this morning. "Don't you think they look nice? Come on, let's go say hi." I turn towards the closest group of men and jokingly step in their direction, away from Jace, interested in seeing how he will respond.

His response comes quickly and swiftly. His hand shoots out to grab my arm before I take a second step, and he roughly tugs me back towards him. There is no humor in his eyes. "Are you insane, Clary? You're in Brooklyn, not some nice little town where everyone looks out for each other. If they get you, you have no idea what those guys could do to you." He pauses for a moment and sweeps his eyes across the bridge, assessing others' positions and demeanors. "Let's go. You're seriously an idiot to be out this late already."

I groan. "Jace, you're not my mom. You don't get to tell me what I should and shouldn't do."

"I'm not trying to be your mom; I just don't want to see you hurt because of your naivety. Come on, this is stupid. Why are you being so stubborn?" He tugs on my arm, trying to pull me off the bridge. I sigh but follow him.

"Since when did you start caring about me?" I ask in annoyance. "What happened to hating me?" He scoffs and shakes his head, but he doesn't respond.

* * *

><p>"So are you ever going to finish telling me what you were doing out on the bridge?" I ask as we get off the bridge. Several men had taken note of me and tried to approach while we were leaving, but Jace's hard glares sent them running pretty quickly. He'd grabbed my hand a little while back to keep me next to him, and now, even though we are away from the guys' predatory stares, he hasn't loosened his grip. Suddenly very self-conscious of our intertwined hands, I pull mine from his as if his hand were fire. He glances over at me, and something flashes behind his eyes – the same undistinguishable emotion that has flashed behind his eyes every time he has seen me – before he returns his gaze to the path in front of us.<p>

"I was just there to blow off steam," he says, but his voice is off. He sounds stiff, uncomfortable. He is holding something back. "I finished my run, so I was going to just look out at the water and think. It's comforting. As you seem to have found out."

I smile. "Yeah, I didn't realize how long I'd been standing there." I wrap my arms around myself: it's getting cold. "Do you go there often?"

A distant smile plays at his features. "I used to," he says quietly after a moment. "When I was little, my mom would take me there all the time. Not when it was dark of course, but we'd go and watch the boats and the water, and we'd just talk about whatever we wanted. It was refreshing. To get out of the house, have some time just the two of us. We'd talk for hours. It would be like the real world – everything off the bridge – didn't exist." I shiver in the cold, and he notices. "Are you cold? Here, take this." He holds out the black hoodie that has been slung over his arm since he appeared: he probably got hot while running and took it off. I take it graciously, too cold to argue.

We walk in silence for several minutes. I watch the people passing by us, wondering at how many different lives these people live. Everybody must have a different story, and I soon find myself creating different lives and scenarios for the passerby's in my head. There goes the firefighter, headed home to his wife and kids after saving a little boy from a house fire. On my left passes a plump, short man, headed to the bar for yet another beer to drown out his sorrows. Ahead of us, a young mother and a small boy with long blond curls exit a restaurant. The boy is dead on his feet, so his mother swoops him up into her arms.

"God, I miss her," Jace mutters as we pass the woman and her child.

"What?" I ask, eyes widening. What is he talking about? And since when does Jace show emotion? And vulnerability? This is unheard of.

"I mean… I miss… I just meant… Oh, screw it," he says after stuttering around his words for a moment. "Izzy said she told you anyways. I'm surprised you haven't used it against me; I deserve it, after the way I've been treating you." I don't say anything; I just wait for him to continue. I know that he refers to his adoption and his real parents; that's the only thing Izzy has told me about Jace that could possibly be used against him. I've held all my thoughts on my parents to myself for sixteen years: if I were to dump them on somebody I'd want that person to listen without interrupting. Jace is probably in the same boat here. "My mom died – both my parents did, actually – in a house fire. Seven years ago today. That's why I was at the bridge: I've avoided it like the plague since they died. But I just needed to remember her, you know? It's been so long. And Alec and Izzy and them – they care, they really do. But they just don't understand."

I stare at him. "Jace, I'm-"

"Sorry?" He scoffs, pushing his hair back with his left hand and looking away from me. "Save it. Everyone's 'sorry'. It doesn't change anything. They're dead. They always will be. And it's for the better. Robert and Maryse are much better parents than mine were. I should consider myself lucky."

"No, I'm…" I grab his hand and stop walking, forcing him to stop as well. He doesn't fight me, but he doesn't look at me, either. His eyes stay fixed to some point above and behind me. "Listen." I grab his other hand and shake them both, and he finally looks down at me. His eyes glisten with unshed tears, and I have to restrain myself from pulling him into a hug. "Yes. I'm sorry. Sorry that that happened, sorry that your real parents aren't here to see who you've turned into, sorry that you feel that your upbringing was so bad that it's a good thing your parents are dead. But I'm really sorry that you think you can't talk to anyone. Izzy told me she barely knows any details to your parents' death, or even about your parents as people, and you've lived with her for seven years. You shouldn't have to carry all this alone. You're only human. It's normal to be upset, especially on the anniversary of their deaths." He purses his lips and looks away again, but I grab his chin, forcing him to look back at me. "You can talk to me, if you want someone to talk to. You can tell me whatever, and if after that you want to go back to school and pretend you hate me for your friends, fine, we can do that; that's your choice. But you're in pain right now: I know it. And you're never going to get over that pain if you don't let someone in. So let me in, Jace. Trust me, whatever you have to say, I'll listen. I'm in no place to judge you."

He shakes his head and looks down, suddenly entranced by his sneakers. This time I let him break the eye contact. As the immensity of what I've just said hits me, I lose my confidence. I feel much less bold than I did a minute ago. We stand in silence, and when several minutes have passed without him saying anything; without him so much as moving, I am about to give up and start walking again. Just as I begin to turn away, he speaks, a vulnerable, scared voice in place of his usual cocky one. "Why?" It is just one word, yet that word holds more emotion than I have ever seen him show.

I furrow my eyebrows. "What do you mean 'why?'"

"Why do you want to listen? You said yourself we aren't friends. You basically ordered me to leave you alone this morning. And now you're telling me to trust you. You're asking me to open up to you about things I obviously haven't even told my family about. How do I know you won't hear all I have to say, then run off and tell everyone else in the world to get back at me for all I've done to you? You'd have every reason to do so." He sounds so pitiful: genuinely afraid of what I might do with the information he has. But there is another emotion there: longing. He wants to confide in me. He wants to talk about whatever it is that's bothering him. He just needs a little bit of persuading.

"And who do you think I'd tell?" I joke. "How many friends have you seen me hanging out with?" His lips twitch upwards momentarily, which I take as a good sign. "Seriously though, I found out what Izzy told me and didn't tell anyone. I'm good with secrets. I promise."

He takes a deep breath. "I've never told anyone about them. Not even Alec." When he stops speaking, I don't respond; I just wait for him to continue, and he does. "My father was… tough. He was very into discipline, and not one for displays of affection. But my mother, well… when we were alone, at least, she was amazing. She'd spoil me as much as she could: bring me into chocolate shops and let me get whatever I wanted, or we'd go to the park and she'd let me do whatever and just… act like a kid." As he continues with his story, he becomes more confident with it. "Going to the bridge was the best, though. We'd go out and she'd hold me up on the railing so I could be up high and look out at all the buildings, and we'd watch the boats go by and pretend we were getting on them to go to far-away lands, or we were waving good-bye to a group of travelers headed off to Europe. She was the only person who could keep me sane while living with my father.

"When I turned ten, though, things changed. My father became worse. He turned into a bitter, angry man, and I was pretty… well, I was pretty troubled. I was turning into a delinquent, trying to defy my father and all his rules, yet yearning to impress him at the same time. And he figured out that he could torment me further if he condoned it. So he'd make me these bets: he'd bet I wouldn't do something, and that thing would be twisted. Horrible. So if I did it, I was defying him by doing something bad that he didn't want me to do, but I was also impressing him by showing him I was brave enough to take on that challenge." He pauses for a moment, reliving the nightmares he endured. I want to know some of these challenges – what was it his father was making him do – but I am also getting nervous. This relationship with his parents: having a horrible father and a loving but powerless mother, is oddly close to the relationship that I have with my parents, and the correlation is unsettling. By the way Jace describes it, though, he had things much worse than I ever had them.

"And then it got out of control," he continues. "One night, I got home really late. I'd been setting off fireworks with some of the older kids in the town. They were all in high school or had already graduated, and since I was young and willing to do anything to fit in, they made me their test dummy. They had me try everything first to make sure they'd be able to do it without getting seriously hurt or in trouble. That night, they told me to set off this giant firework: we had no idea how big it was or exactly how to set it off. And since I didn't really care about my safety, but I wanted them to think I was cool, I volunteered to be the one to launch it. I did it wrong, though, and I ended up with a giant burn up my whole left arm.

"When I got home, my father was furious. He told me how irresponsible I'd been, and he asked me what the hell I'd been thinking. I told him that I'd wanted to see the firework, and he responded with one of his typical threats. Since I was so infatuated with fire and explosions, he told me, I should create one in our own house. He grabbed a container of gasoline, emptied it in the kitchen and handed me a lit candle from the table. And he dared me not to do it, hoping to see if he'd finally break me: if I'd finally cave and back down. I wanted to light it. God, I wanted to do it so bad, just to see the look on his face when he realized that no matter what he did, he would never control me. But I knew it was wrong. If I lit the gasoline, the house would burn down. My father and I could probably get out, but I had no idea if my mother was home, and if she was she would be screwed. It was too much: my entire being was screaming at me to give in; to obey him and let him win. I stood there for probably half an hour, not moving, before my father got bored. He went upstairs to bed, figuring that since I hadn't done anything yet, I was never going to. And he was right. I tried to step carefully to the table to put the candle back down, but I must have slipped or something. I don't know what happened, but in an instant, the house was up in flames. It was like a-"

My phone begins ringing outrageously loudly, piercing the complete silence in which I had been listening and cutting Jace off mid-sentence. With a scowl, I pull it out of my pocket to shut it off, but a glance at the caller ID tells me it's my dad. Fear grips me as I press answer, quickly apologizing to Jace. He waves me off like it's no big deal, but I can see the hurt, the rejection, flash behind his eyes. "Hi Dad," I greet in the sweetest voice I can muster. "What's up?"

"Where the fuck are you?" he bellows, loud enough that Jace probably heard. "I told you to stay in your room, you worthless bitch." I begin to respond, but he cuts me off. "We found your mother, if you even care."

My eyes widen. "Really? I'll be right home, I promise. I was on my way, anyway." I end the call, shoving my phone into my pocket and turning to Jace, who looks somewhere between angry, shocked, and sad. "I'm so sorry, Jace. I really want to hear all of what you have to say, but my dad just found my mom, and she's been missing all day. I have to go. I'm sorry."

I turn to leave, but Jace's arm stops me. He jerks me back to face him, much more harshly than he probably intended.

"Why did your father speak to you like that?" His voice is cold and angry. He recognizes the voice my father used because other than being extremely rude and vulgar, my dad's voice probably matches the voice Jace's father used to address him.

I pull my arm from his. "He's just been very worried today because – look I don't have time for this!" I exclaim. "I have to get home. I'll… uh… I'll see you in school tomorrow?"

"I'm coming back with you."

"Jace-"

"Clary, I'm not going to pretend I know how your family runs or what's acceptable and why your dad spoke to you like that, but no matter how much trouble your mom may be in or how angry your father is that you aren't there, it's not worth running through the streets of Brooklyn all by yourself at eleven at night. I'm coming back with you, and I'm making sure you get back all right."

I groan. "All right, fine. Whatever. Come on!" I grab his arm roughly and begin sprinting towards home, half-dragging Jace. He doesn't say a word, just follows along, quickly matching my pace. The air is tense as we dart silently through alleys and back roads, paying no mind to the people we roughly push out of our path. Both of us have a thousand words to say to each other, but I have a bigger issue right now. I need to get home and see if my mother is all right. About halfway back, the reality of how far the bridge is from my house hits me, and I slow to a brisk walk, panting from the run. Jace slows with me and takes my slowing pace as a sign for him to start asking questions.

"Were you looking for your mom? Before you ended up on the bridge, of course," he asks. I don't respond. He already knows more about my family than I'd like; I'm not telling him anything else. "Why was it such a big deal in the first place?" He presses when I don't answer. "How long was she gone? You seemed fine at school today." I sigh dramatically to let him know that I won't be answering him any time soon, and he shakes his head in annoyance. "Seriously? I just told you all that, and you won't even tell me how long your mom's been gone? I think I deserve at least that, wouldn't you agree?"

Fed up with his hard-headedness, I whirl around to face him. "It's not that simple, okay?" I snap. "It isn't just a matter of how long she's been gone. There are other factors involved. So stop trying to force your way into my life! I don't have time – I don't want to talk to you!" Okay, so maybe that was a bit harsh, but I couldn't take his nagging anymore.

"Wow, talk about mixed signals." He shakes his head. "First you hate me, then you want me to tell you all my deepest, darkest secrets, then you want me to leave you alone again? You've got to make a decision, I mean, come on."

"I don't have time for this." He's right, and I know he is, but right now, I don't have time for his logic. I have to get home, and he's in my way. I turn, leaving him behind, and continue towards the apartment.

I'm only half-surprised when I hear his footsteps behind me.

"Jace, go away, I told you I don't want to talk to you."

"And as attractive an offer as leaving may be, it would be foolish of me to leave you alone, at night, in a pretty sketchy alley when you obviously aren't completely stable." I swat at him for the last remark – I'm completely stable. "I'm still coming back with you."

I manage to ignore that Jace has followed me back for the rest of the walk. As we approach my apartment building, I turn to face him, unsure of how to part. "So thanks for… making sure I wasn't abducted or whatever. You can go now. I think I'm able to get into my house okay."

I'm about to go inside when his hand shoots out to grab my shoulder. He pulls me close to him, close enough that he could kiss me without too much motion. Suddenly, against my will, my heart starts to race. What is he doing? Will he try to kiss me? Do I want him to? My stomach begins turning circles as Jace leans in.

Instead of feeling his lips press to mine, though, his free hand flutters over my bruised forehead and eye. I meet his eyes, hoping to figure out what he's thinking; hoping that, after everything that's happened today, he won't be able to connect the dots and discover that my father did this to me. His eyes hold two emotions: pain and empathy.

"Why?" he whispers. "Who did this? And why?" His eyes burn with emotion I didn't know he had, and it suddenly clicks that behind that strong man he shows to the world hides a scared, scarred little boy, beaten close to the breaking point by a father who never cared. My black eye, my phone call with my father, and his remembrance of his parents have dredged up all the thoughts, memories and emotions that he has been holding back for years. "Was it your father? At least tell me that."

I stare at him, unable to look away, but not quite able to bring myself to answer. Should I lie, as I've been doing for all these years, or should I finally reveal the truth? Jace trusted me to keep his secret; shouldn't I be able to trust him to keep mine? I open my mouth, but no words come.

"Please, just tell me," he begs. "Was it your father? Yes or no? No, and I'll stop asking you about it. Yes, and whatever he's done to you, whatever pain he's put you in, will be in the past. I'll help you. It can all be over."

That's it. Those words were all I needed to hear. I can do this.

"No."

I can't just abandon my family like that. I can't tell Jace: he just said that he'd tell my secret. I stand up straighter and push away from him, addressing him with a strong voice that, miraculously, does not betray how scared I am or how close he is to discovering the truth. "I don't know what you're insinuating or where you get the idea from, but I'm not being _abused_ by my dad or anything. My relationship with my family is totally fine, and you have no right to be accusing my father of hitting me!" I snap at him. "Good-bye Jace. I'll see you tomorrow." Before he can respond, I push him away and head inside.

Just as I reach the door, Jace's voice rings out, "I don't believe you. And I hope you're prepared to prove your words, because there's no way in hell what you just said is true." I flip him off over my shoulder without sparing him a glance, and enter the building, slamming the door shut behind me. As the door closes with a resounding bang, the tears finally begin to fall. He's going to find out, and when he does, what will happen? I'm scared. I'm so, so scared.

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><p><strong>All right, so there you have it. What did you think? That brought up a lot of new ideasproblems/conflicts, and I hope you all enjoyed the drama! Please please please give constructive reviews! If you review, I'll respond and I'll try to take a look at your story or stories if you have any, and I'll leave reviews too! Until next time, I hope you enjoyed!**


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